


Creeping On A Stranger

by an_alternate_world



Series: Seblaine Week 2014 [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Implied Violence, M/M, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 135,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1917696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_alternate_world/pseuds/an_alternate_world
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
 **Author:** an_alternate_world  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Characters/Pairing:** Blaine Anderson, Sebastian Smythe  
 **Word Count:** 3,539  
 **Summary:** Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.  
 **Warnings/Spoilers:** Implied violence.  
 **Disclaimer:** I am in no way associated with _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.

* * *

Blaine sinks and swims, floats and flounders, drifts and drops.

Through the haze, he starts to believe that morphine is an incredible drug.

* * *

Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he had spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.

At first, he increased his time studying to ace his exams. His parents cast tired, proud smiles in his direction as they assessed his straight As report card.

When that barely worked, he rebelled against the studious studying type and started experimenting in petty crime like writing offensive graffiti on the playground equipment and setting fire to useless pieces of paper in the park. His parents cast tired, concerned gazes when he trudged home long after it had fallen dark outside.

Increasingly frustrated, he found a group of cool older boys. They were everything he wished he was – confident, collected, capable. They were the ones that first introduced him to alcohol. He was barely thirteen, but it helped to numb some of the pain he felt over his sister's illness and the parental abandonment he endured until he realised even _that_ wasn't gaining his parents' attention.

By fifteen, he'd smoked a few joints, been drunk more times than he could count, and hooked up with a couple of naive young boys who were keen to experiment like he was. He was increasingly convinced he was gay, but he had no one to come out to, no one to discuss his uncertainty with, since his parents were so often absent, his sister was too sick and too young to understand, and any friends he had would probably beat him up. It was mostly causing him to smoke more, drink more, trying to pretend he wasn't caught up in this whirlwind of negativity and distaste which was all squarely directed from him towards himself.

When he stumbled home at some ridiculously early hour one morning after he'd fallen asleep in the park with a bit too much alcohol coursing through his veins, he found his father waiting for him on the steps. He paused, leaning against the doorway so that his father didn't notice how he started shaking.

_Maybe this is it. Maybe Lillian has finally found some peace._

Instead his father explained that his kid sister was in the PICU, had been moved up the transplant list, wasn't doing too well. The words began to blur together until the numbness Sebastian found at the bottom of a bottle managed to infect his stone-cold sober body. She wasn't gone, but, perhaps, she _was_ going. His father cast a displeased look in his direction, requesting he shower and change before visiting Lillian in the hospital.

Sebastian wanted to protest. He didn't want to see his sister on a ventilator _again_ , her body connected to machines that worked to keep her tiny body alive. Sometimes the only way he got rid of those images was drinking until he couldn't see anymore.

His father wouldn't have listened anyway, so he silently moved upstairs towards the bathroom, figuring that this time would be another downhill slide for Lillian and he'd be forced to watch it.

How could he have expected everything he knew to change?

* * *

His mother was usually a doctor in the PICU ward of the Westerville hospital for reasons Sebastian consistently failed to understand. She had a sick kid at home and ignored her other one, and yet she enjoyed spending her days surrounded by other sick kids? Perhaps being a masochist ran in the family and he got it from her.

Regardless, the conflict of interest with her daughter being in close proximity, had led his mom to be transferred to the adult ICU ward. He could tell from the sour expression on her face as she explained the issue to his father that she was entirely nonplussed about the change but Sebastian thinks it's probably a good thing. Being too close to Lillian would wear his mother out faster than the stress she's already endured trying to keep his sister alive for the past four years.

He enters the room and tries not to stare at how small and pale she looks against the white sheets and blankets which surround her. While Lillian is every bit as frail as an eleven year old should look when they've been slowly dying for years, she hasn't grown much since she got sick so she's still barely the height of an eight year old. He looks at her now, with her jaw taped open for the tube to push down her throat, and he can barely remember Lillian being alive and happy, blissfully free of the disease that had wrapped around her tiny heart and begun to squeeze it tight. If Sebastian had been able to sacrifice his own life for his sister, he would have. (Maybe it would have the added bonus of getting his parents to remember they have another child again.)

After an hour of watching her sleep – which Sebastian thinks is pretty boring and extremely creepy – William Smythe mutters something about trying to find some decent coffee and departs the room.

Mostly, Sebastian just thinks his father can't stand watching Lillian anymore.

He waits five minutes before letting himself out. It's not like Lillian will know he was there and isn't now. He glances at the patient whiteboard out of a habit that comes from following his mother around on shifts and can't help but see a room number with an unrecognisable name scrawled in the column. What really draws his attention is '14yo' and 'multiple fractures'.

Sebastian has always has a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself.

He's not sure anyone's ever considered that he's just incredibly curious, probably borderline nosy.

* * *

Sebastian chose this particular room to visit because the person was the closest in age to him. It was really as simple and complicated as that. After all, it was the PICU so he knew he wasn't going to get any stellar conversation from the patients. He glances around himself furtively before he presses open the door, because he's pretty sure there'd be some odd looks to see him going into the room of someone other than his sister. Perhaps he could feign that he was friends? They were pretty close in age after all…

The fourteen year old on the board with the multiple fractures and indecipherable name turns out to be a boy, which Sebastian tries not to think is a great bonus. Observing a girl is much weirder, as he can attest to after spending so much time with Lillian. He closes the door with the quietest of clicks and moves closer into the room.

It's hard to miss how the boy's head is swathed in bandages as well as the left side of his face. He can see a bubble shape over one eye which makes him think there must be some sort of patch under all the layers of gauze and bandages. It's also impossible to miss how his left arm and leg are heavily casted and held in traction pulleys. They make Sebastian wince because he's never thought they could be particularly comfortable, and yet he supposes this boy is too out of it to even understand or feel it.

The boy is like Lillian with a ventilator tube down his throat so Sebastian doubts he's been in the hospital very long otherwise they would have tried to wean him off it. An IV pitter-patters with soft drips and blips while an ECG monitor jumps each time his heart beats. He watches the boy's chest for a moment, at the way it's forced to rise and fall through an artificial pumping. It doesn't rise very much and he wonders if there's broken ribs as well.

He pulls up a chair and watches the boy with morbid fascination. It's far more interesting that Lillian, who he's had memorised for years. Even when he gets too old and develops dementia, he'll be able to recall what Lillian looked like in the hospital – the memories might even haunt him after he dies. Instead, he starts mentally cataloguing what he can see of the boy. He can't tell much about his appearance beneath all the dressings on his face, but he can see a few loose locks of hair which are dark and possibly curly. He can see the edge of full, pinked lips around the tape and tubing. He looks faintly tan but it's hard to be completely sure with the minimal light in the room and the amount of skin which is covered up.

Feeling frustrated with the lack of visual clues, he reaches for the boy's medical chart and starts to peruse the details. If nothing else, four years of going back and forth to hospitals has taught him more than he ever wanted to know about these things and years of asking his mother curious questions about her short-hand notations makes many of these too easy to read.

He reads about how the boy had been brought in a week ago, with the intention of taking him of the ventilator sometime in the next week or two. The numerous IV bags include some powerful painkillers and sedatives because he's got a shattered leg, arm, collarbone and four broken ribs. Apparently his nose was broken and he also has a fractured eye socket. There was a punctured lung, and, his eyes widen, bleeding on his brain.

"Jesus..." he whispers, glancing up at the boy. At least the bandages around his skull make sense now.

He returns to the papers, examining that he'd been admitted through the emergency department after an anonymous 911 call had alerted authorities to an unconscious male outside a middle school. It had taken three days before they'd tracked down a next of kin and the boy's injuries had been referred to the police for further investigation. He re-reads the sentence about next of kin, shaking his head that anyone could fail to notice where their child was for three days. Given the extent of these injuries, the boy could have _died_. Perhaps this boy's parents cared as little as Sebastian's?

"Someone really did a number on you, hey?" he murmurs, wondering what the boy's story was. He tried to imagine it but even in some of his wildest scenarios, he couldn't really come up with anything that explained how someone got _this_ badly beaten up. After all, for all Sebastian could tell from the injury list and admission records, he'd probably been left for dead. Sebastian knew from his time with the older boys at the playground that a beat down didn't happen without some serious shit leading up to it.

He replaces the chart and memorises the name. _Blaine_. He likes it. It's unusual, but it rolls off his tongue nicely and it's…it's an attractive name, somehow.

"Rest well, Blaine. Let those bones heal," he breathes, brushing his fingertips against Blaine's uninjured forearm, before creeping back out of the room and returning to Lillian's.

His father doesn't return for nearly another hour. When he does, his eyes are rimmed red and the tip of his nose is puffy.

Sebastian doesn't ask. He's stopped wanting the bad news.

* * *

Sebastian frequently visits the hospital under the guise of talking to Lillian while she lapses in and out of consciousness, but he quickly establishes that she's out of it more often than not. After they remove the ventilator and try to keep her more aware of what's going on, it becomes clear that she struggles to remember where she is and whether or not he's been there before. So he uses that to his advantage to peek in on Blaine.

It's ten days after he first 'meets' Blaine that the ventilator tube is gone and an oxygen mask covers his face. Sebastian takes that as a step in the right direction even though he has to check a couple of times to make sure that Blaine's chest _is_ actually rising and falling on its own.

A week after that, he notices that the IV is holding one bag now instead of the three it had held during his first visit. Blaine's still sleeping, or unconscious, but he smiles to himself and hopes that he's getting better.

Another week passes and the bandages around Blaine's face are gone. It surprises him and he steps forward to look closer. With the entire left side of his face on display, Sebastian can now see just how ridiculously long his lashes are, the slight slope to his nose where it was broken. It's impossible to miss some lingering bruising but it's now recognisable as a _face_.

It's also one which is rather attractive although he reminds himself it's entirely inappropriate to be thinking that way.

He sits by Blaine's bed for little more than half an hour each time he visits, because he doesn't want to get caught by a nurse or have Blaine wake up. He finds himself wondering what colour eyes Blaine would have on more than one occasion. He doubts they're blue given his complexion, but perhaps they're green or brown.

There are plenty of times he's not at the hospital. Occasionally he attends school but rarely for a full day. He gets too many pitying looks from teachers and the handful of friends he has. Within a few hours of being around all of _that_ , he wants to tear chunks out of his hair. He _hates_ that people know things about his personal life and puts it down to his parents calling to let the school know why he's absent so much and then gossipy teachers being overheard. It makes him glad he hasn't come out, because he's pretty sure that would have turned into a wildfire.

Some afternoons, he ignores that he should be at the hospital and turns up at the park to see his old dropkick mates. A joint and several mouthfuls of vodka later, he feels like the king of the world as he stands at the top of the slide with his arms outstretched. Some of the boys hoot and holler at him, ranging from telling him not to hurt himself to encouraging him to see if he can fly. He doesn't have a kingdom to rule but there are a few moments of tranquillity in his head when he's too high to really process what's going on around him.

After a week of being bored in the few classes he'd attended, Sebastian has little interest in trying to find a questioning, lonely-hearted guy on Friday night. He sneaks into the PICU, not for Lillian, but instead to see Blaine. As much as he tells himself that it's wrong to keep visiting someone he doesn't know, he still thinks about how it took three days to find a next of kin. He's never seen anyone visiting Blaine and maybe he thinks no one deserves to be that beat up and isolated in a hospital room. He uses that as an excuse to the mysterious draw the boy has over him, something that keeps pulling him in and pulling him back, time after time. He doubts he'll ever truly understand why, but he finds himself visiting anyway.

He sits by Blaine's bedside with a book he was meant to have read for Literature, losing himself in a world of knights carving up dragons which all seems too easy to be real. Admittedly, Sebastian has to remember he's never fought a dragon before, but he doubts it's really so easy to just kill them. Midway through a chapter, there's a rustling of sheets and a pained grunt in front of him.

He book snaps closed as he glances towards Blaine. There's a very obvious look of discomfort crinkling part of Blaine's face. The ECG skips a couple of beats and then the IV beeps a couple of times. Sebastian watches as it drips faster, liquid sliding through the coiled tubes into Blaine's veins. He suspects it's some sort of painkiller and that the machines register when Blaine's hurting, although he thinks they've eased off the morphine which is probably why Blaine is shifting around easier in pain.

He can't do anything to make it go away though and Blaine seems to still for a few minutes so he returns to his book, immersing himself again in a fantasy world he thinks would be better suited for Lillian's interests than his own teenage ones.

"N-No..."

The voice rasps out so unexpectedly that he nearly drops his book. Blaine's right, uncast hand is trembling against the thin mattress of the hospital bed in front of Sebastian, his right leg squirming under the sheets. It doesn't take a genius to realise Blaine's having a nightmare. He can easily recall the many nightmares he's comforted Lillian after she's wobbled into his room with huge, teary eyes and promised to keep her safe. Uncertain of what sort of boundaries he's probably crossing, he stands to move forward and captures Blaine's shaking hand in his own.

The result is almost immediate. The pinched look of distress around Blaine's mouth and eyes fades. The shuddering breaths stop sounding quite so harsh. His leg stills under the sheets. The ECG shows fewer irregularities in his heartbeat. It's a fascinating change and Sebastian isn't sure whether he should let go or keep holding on.

Creepy though it is, holding on wins.

He tugs his chair closer and gently runs his thumb over the back of Blaine's hand, mindful of the tubes and wires that still seem to snake out of every available section of skin.

Time ticks by, his book lies abandoned on the floor, and Sebastian is on the verge of dozing off. He really should have left a while ago but he feels calmer than he has in a while and it's a hard feeling to want to leave. The hand he's been absently stroking shifts against him and it immediately jolts him awake.

"Who're you?"

The slurred words draw his attention upwards to confused gold eyes and it nearly takes his breath away. He'd wondered what colour Blaine's eyes might be, but nothing could ever have compared to seeing those eyes open. He's entranced and deep down, he thinks that's going to be a huge problem.

He also has a problem since he'd never expected to be caught in this situation of watching a stranger.

"I... Uh..." He stumbles over his words and lets Blaine's hand go because holding onto it seems awkward now. "My sister is here too and I..." _Oh hell, he may as well be honest_. "I saw your age on the chart and looked in on you because I'm only a bit older than you."

Blaine's eyebrows scrunch together and Sebastian wonders if it hurts. Judging from the quiet whimper, he guesses that it does. "That's...creepy."

"Sorry." Sebastian offers an embarrassed smile and a shrug of his shoulders because yeah, he thinks it probably is way more creepy to have spent time with a perfect stranger than his own sister. "I'm Sebastian."

"Blaine," the boy in the hospital bed says, before a vaguely amused smile crosses his lips, "but I suspect you already knew that."

Sebastian nods unashamedly and crosses his ankles beneath the chair. "Is it weird to say it's nice to finally talk to you?"

"Definitely," Blaine mumbles, his eyes fluttering closed and Sebastian thinks maybe Blaine only has brief windows of consciousness like Lillian as his body continues to heal. "You can come back though, if you want."

"Yeah?" Something unexpectedly warm flutters in his chest. He'd expected yelling to tell him to get out and not return. Being told he can come back is… It exceeds any expectations he'd ever entertained late at night.

"Your face is nice to wake up to," Blaine whispers, his words slurring together again, as he sags into the mattress and Sebastian knows he's fallen asleep again.

He stifles the laugh that threatens to bubble free with a quiet cough and runs a hand over his apparently nice face. It's only when he draws his hand away that he thinks more carefully about the words. Blaine had been left for dead outside a middle school, and thinks he has a nice face. In Hellhole, Ohio, Sebastian wonders if maybe Blaine's gay and the reason his case was referred to the police was because they suspected a hate crime.

Considering what he knows and hears about gay people that has kept him holding onto the secret of his sexuality, he wouldn't be surprised. It saddens him though, because when he looks at Blaine's peacefully innocent, vulnerable face, he knows the boy would never have harmed anyone.

He brushes his fingertips over Blaine's forearm and knows that he really should get going.

"Sleep well, Killer," he murmurs, smiling at Blaine's content little sigh in his sleep.

He can't help hoping that Blaine won't be as confused as Lillian so often is if the boy wakes up to Sebastian again.

* * *

 

~ _ **TBC~**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
 **Word Count:** 5,478 **  
Summary:** Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. **  
** **Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.

* * *

Christmas, Sebastian decides with a glare at the calendar mocking him from the back of the door, is the worst thing to 'celebrate' when you have a family member slowly dying in hospital.

Actually, to be perfectly honest, he'd completely forgotten about it.

The length of time Lillian has been in the hospital has sharply increased the amount of nights he escapes the house, the amount of liquor he consumes, and the more reluctant he becomes to attend school.

He's not entirely sure his parents are aware of what he's doing, despite his clothing reeking of smoke from the joints that the other guys pass onto him. They rarely seem to be around and when they are, they almost never pay attention to him. They don't ask how his day was or what he learned at school or if he has any plans for the winter breaks. He's lucky if he even gets them to look at him.

Occasionally he feels a flash of hot anger burn down his spine, his fingers curling by his sides as his heart throbs in his chest because he just wants to demand why,  _why_  is he not good enough to be noticed by them?  _Why_  can't they remember they have a son as well as a daughter?  _Why_  can't they see he's struggling to live every day just as Lillian is?

He doesn't ask any of the questions though.

He's too terrified of the potential answers.

* * *

Three days before Christmas Eve, he visits Lillian in the hospital and strokes his fingers absently through her stringy flaxen hair. She's completely out of it but there'd been a moment, when he'd first touched her, that her green eyes had fluttered open and a soft " _Sebby!_ " had been sighed from her lips behind the oxygen mask. Entranced by a pair of eyes which were almost a mirror of his own, he'd bent forward to kiss her forehead, glad that she was capable of recognising him.

By the time he'd pulled away to ask her how she was feeling, she was asleep again.

Disappointed, he'd sat in the chair and held her hand loosely. He understands she's been sick for a long time and her odds aren't the greatest. She'd gotten diagnosed with some rare heart defect after collapsing at school. The teacher had thought it was an asthma attack but in reality, it was the first of many times the electrical system around her heart had failed.

At first, specialists his mother had contacted had flown in to try correcting the problem with surgery. He'd sat in a waiting room with his parents, trying to avoid pacing like his mother but trying to avoid sitting like the stone-still statue his father had become as they waited, waited, waited for news. After four operations, the doctors had had to embarrassingly concede that they'd only done more damage and put Lillian on the transplant waiting list.

As if her condition wasn't problematic enough to fix, it turned out she'd inherited the shitty end of the blood-type stick with the ridiculously rare AB+ while he'd been more successful to obtain A+. It enabled an easier amount of blood transfusions but a transplant was incredibly hard to receive. Combined with the amount of people already on the list, many who were higher and had been waiting longer, meant that Lillian's odds of survival only got shorter and shorter.

The system  _sucked_.

He stirs from his despondent thoughts to realise that his cheeks are damp. Quickly wiping at his eyes, he rises to kiss her forehead goodbye when it seems pretty clear she isn't going to wake again. Deep down, he wants to see Blaine. Sebastian he knows his parents will swarm all over Lillian during the festive period, attempting to keep her spirits high, while Sebastian's own take a distinct dive and he attempts to stay as far away from the hospital as he feasibly can manage without leaving the state.

He gazes at Lillian a minute longer, at the way her tiny chest rises and falls, and wishes she didn't have to endure this anymore, that none of them did.

"Love you, Lils," he whispers, escaping her room and attempting to infuse steel into his nerves as he walks down the corridor to Blaine's. It doesn't really bother him if the boy is asleep – he's watched both Lillian and Blaine sleep more than enough times now – but he itches for some sort of conversation.

"Seb!"

A conversation with a nurse distinctly doesn't count.

He turns to offer the most innocent look that he can manage, his hand poised on the doorknob and his body seconds away from entering Blaine's room and hiding for a while. A nurse that's a family friend managed to exit the adjacent room and he tries to continuously remind himself not to panic, despite also mentally cursing her entire existence.

"This isn't Lillian's room," Therese says with a frown as she disposes of some gloves and a needle into a bucket by the door.

It's as if she thinks Sebastian's stupid enough to not know which room his sister's in, which he tries not to consider deeply insulting to his intelligence.

"I'm friends with Blaine."

The lie slips out easily, perhaps a sign of how many times he's mentally rehearsed it and whispered it to himself late at night to try finding the most convincing tone if it was ever an issue. Which, he reflects, it now might be.

On the other hand, he wonders if it really  _is_  a lie. He's spoken to Blaine and the boy said he could come back the first time. A couple of days ago, he'd slipped into the room and re-explained to a groggy Blaine who he was and a little of Lillian's history for why he was at the hospital. Blaine had mumbled something about it being a sad bedtime story and did it have a happy ending?

Those sort of weird conversations were enough to constitute a friendship, right?

Therese doesn't look like she's buying it. Her arms fold across her chest, her eyebrows rising towards her hairline. "Oh really?"

He wants to yell, ' _Does it even matter?_ ' but he suspects that will get him the distinct opposite of what he wants. Blaine's drugged up comments had been the highlight of his week. He needs a bit of amusement before the Christmas season sends him into a tailspin.

"Okay, so honestly he's friends of a friend of mine who went to Blaine's middle school," Sebastian says, returning to the second part of the lie he'd formulated in his head if anyone ever pushed him to it. "We heard he got beat up pretty bad after a dance and… Well, with Lillian over there and Blaine here, it was like, how could I not look in on him and make sure he was okay?"

He flashes his most charming smile, but avoids batting his eyelashes. That's probably a bit much to do to a woman that's in her fifties. He hopes the story sounds convincing enough. He'd trawled through some online news reports from a month ago – which had been no easy feat when the screen kept playing tricks on him – to learn that there'd been a Sadie Hawkins dance at the middle school Blaine had been found at. Conveniently, the middle school was one of three in the area which was a feeder school for Sebastian's high school. Sebastian guessed from Blaine's age that he was probably in his final year of middle school and something had gone awry at the dance, but the newspaper reports had been pretty vague on  _those_  sorts of gossipy details. As long as Therese didn't know he had no friends because of his crappy attendance and therefore no one that could have possibly known Blaine in middle school, his story was rock solid, air tight, and absolutely perfect.

Therese's lips purse together and he thinks that maybe she's an even tougher nut to crack than he'd thought, but then she gives him a small wave that allows him entry. "I'm watching you, Sebastian."

"I'm too gorgeous not to watch," he says as he practically dives through the door, wondering if it's gross to flirt with someone more than three times your age just so that you can distract them from going into a room without explicit parental permission. Therese snorts behind him so he figures his diversion worked and shuts Blaine's door quietly.

A floor lamp is on in the corner, casting some faint illumination around the room. Blaine's arm isn't being held up by a traction pulley anymore. Sebastian might not be a mathematician who can measure angles very well, but he thinks his leg looks lower too. Instead of the mask that had adorned Blaine's face, there's now some tubing with a nasal cannula which suggests he's breathing with greater capability on his own. Sebastian thinks that with those sorts of improvements, Blaine could be on his way to moving to the regular paediatric ward pretty soon.

He pulls up a chair and the sound of the plastic scraping across the linoleum causes Blaine's eyes flutter open. He offers a lopsided smile, his left side still healing too much to make Blaine smile fully.

"Hi," Blaine whispers, stretching out his hand in a sign that makes Sebastian happy to be recognised. Blaine's like the polar opposite of Lillian, capable of remembering who he is, although he's not entirely sure that the story about Lillian's illness is completely remembered.

He skims his fingertips over Blaine's palm before he wraps his fingers around it, allowing his warmest smile to play on his lips. "Hi, yourself. How are you feeling?"

Blaine wrinkles his nose despite how much Sebastian knows it hurts. He's starting to think it's an automatic reaction, which subsequently makes him think Blaine is some sort of cute and bashful little schoolboy. He'd never admit it, but it's totally working for him.

Which is something he totally shouldn't be thinking about someone who's so broken in a hospital bed.

"My left side aches all the time," Blaine confesses, his voice soft because even after all this time, his throat is still roughened from the ventilator. Sebastian, thankfully, has no first-hand experience with them but he's seen how long it takes Lillian to recover her voice, particularly when it's left there for a while or an involuntary application because she's failing to breathe on her own. He guesses that maybe Blaine's healing ribs make it hard too if he can't get a decent breath behind his words.

He nods, his thumb smoothing over Blaine's knuckles in an attempt to convey his understanding and comfort. He's not used to being able to have a conversation with Lillian, to ascertain whether she understands what's happening or not. "Do you know what your injuries were?"

"Yeah," Blaine says, wincing as he rolls his head until his right cheek is resting on the pillow and he's looking more directly at Sebastian. The left side of his face still looks a bit mottled and Sebastian can see a section of scalp which has been shaved, a line of stitches and staples holding together skin which is healing. He tries not to look as horrified as he feels and focuses on Blaine's eyes. He's still left breathless by the colour of those eyes. "I'm not sleeping well."

He offers a sympathetic smile, remembering the way he'd first truly met Blaine as he struggled with something that may or may not have been a memory of the attack he went through. "Nightmares?"

Blaine bites his lip as he gives a little noise of assent, like he's embarrassed to admit it. Sebastian doesn't think Blaine has much to be ashamed about. He's pretty sure he'd never want to close his eyes again if it meant reliving being caught up in a beat down. He observes Blaine's eyes drift away, over the top of his hair to the shuttered windows. "How's your sister?"

It surprises him for a moment, because he hadn't expected Blaine to remember his sister was in here or how bad she was. He had been vague on the details – he's not sure he could ever be truly honest about them to anyone – but even though Blaine had been so drugged that he thought it was a sad bedtime story, he'd remembered the core thing: Sebastian had a sick sister.

"No better, no worse," Sebastian concedes, which is apparently about the best his family can hope for. He can't see her leaving the PICU unless she gets a new heart or…or…

He can't finish the thought. His composure falters as he shakes his head in an attempt to get rid of the thoughts and starts looking at Blaine's hand. He notices a couple of coloured leads are missing from a sticky electrical conductor pad, but he's not sure what it had been there for.

"Hey, Seb?"

"Hm?"

"What's the date?"

It's far from the question he'd expected and the surprise makes him look up with a brief wrinkle of his brow. "December 21st."

"Oh." Something shifts in Blaine's eyes, something that flickers to life before abruptly dying out. It leaves his honey-gold eyes looking huge and hurt and so atrociously sad that Sebastian wants to purchase a dopey puppy or a kitten just so that the smile comes back. He thinks Blaine's smile might be warmer than the sun. "Okay."

"Something wrong?"

"No, just…"

Blaine turns his head away as much as he can manage with the healing it's still doing. Sebastian examines him, noticing the steadiness to his chest which is at odds with the erratic jumps of the ECG. Clearly he's trying to force down an upsetting emotion.

"Hey…" He tugs at Blaine's hand, because even if they haven't shared much he still feels a weird connection to this boy. He wants to understand. He wants to reduce the hurt that seems to be permanently reflected in the depths of Blaine's eyes.

When Blaine looks back, the curve of his cheeks is shiny and his eyes glitter with unshed tears. Sebastian can't help but reach for them, softly softly softly dragging the pad of his thumb through the twin pools of salty water as his heart gets crushed in his chest.

"What's wrong?" he tries again, noticing Blaine's lower lip wobbling despite how hard the boy is biting down on it.

"I don't… I didn't want to spend Christmas here," Blaine explains, his voice as unsteady as his lip. "My parents were in yesterday and didn't say anything about the date so I just… I lost track of time and they… I doubt they'll come again now because Coop will fly in and…  _God_ , I don't want Cooper to see me like this…"

Sebastian frowns and adjusts his hold on Blaine's hand in the hopes it's more secure, more comforting, trying to link together all the things that are distressing Blaine and work out a solution. "So Cooper's…your brother?"

"Yeah… He…  _God_ …" A soft sob falls from Blaine's mouth followed by a pained whine, his hand leaving Sebastian's to touch his left side carefully. Sebastian wonders if all the broken bones will ever stop hurting. He hopes so. He doesn't like seeing anyone in agony.

"How about I give you my number?" he says, barely realising what he's said until the words are already out there. He glances at the bedside table to confirm there is, in fact, a phone by Blaine's side before he returns his gaze. "My parents will want to see Lils and I'm….not really wanting to be around for that sob-fest, so if you need someone you can call me."

"You… You'd do that?" Blaine's staring at him with enormous, shiny eyes that make him feel vaguely uncomfortable. He's never put himself out there for anyone else, certainly not without a very good reason, but Blaine's different. He's alone and he's sad and Sebastian can't just walk away from that.

"Sure," he shrugs, as if it's something he does all the time. It's not, but he said it before he could stop himself. He'll have to check the connection between his vocal cords and his brain later for a potential fault.

Blaine's hand unsteadily closes around Sebastian's again, his breathing as deep as he can manage while he calms himself down. Sebastian watches because he's not sure he's able to watch anything else. Blaine manages to be magical and mysterious wrapped into one. Every time Sebastian wants to ask a question, he ends up chickening out. He knows Blaine won't break – maybe because he's already broken – but maybe it's like his parents. Maybe he's afraid of the answer.

He writes down his number on a notepad by the phone and underlines it several times, just because he can, and a silence falls over them for several minutes.

"Seb, I…" Blaine's brow crinkles and he yawns, his eyes fluttering a couple of seconds too long. Sebastian suspects he's probably going to end up asleep soon. He's seen that expression on Lillian's face enough times. "I just… I know you explained you were here for Lillian but…why are you here for  _me_?"

How come Blaine has the courage to ask the tough questions when Sebastian's too chickenshit to utter a sound?

Jesus Christ.

He lowers his eyes, looking awkwardly at his lap. He'll weave together a story that's partially truths and partially lies and maybe by the time he's done, Blaine will have fallen asleep.

"It's rare that the PICU gets anyone near my own age. They're usually littler kids, like Lillian," he explains, his teeth tugging at his lower lip. "I can't really explain why I thought I'd look in on you. I know it's weird and I'm just glad you didn't scream at me when you woke up. But… I mean, no one deserves to have gotten as hurt as you."

When he chances a look at Blaine, he can tell his eyelids are definitely getting heavier and harder to keep open. "You don't know I didn't deserve it," he says, the words slurring together.

It's the first time Sebastian thinks that maybe he was right about Blaine's sexuality and Blaine has some sick, twisted sense of logic that he deserved to be left for dead because Hellhole, Ohio is an intolerant asshole.

" _No one_  deserves it," he repeats more firmly, watching Blaine's eyelids finally become too heavy to stay open. There's a faint smile on Blaine's face as the tension in his muscles relaxes, so Sebastian assumes, or hopes, his last words were heard, acknowledged, and accepted.

He sits for about ten minutes, watching the youthful vulnerability shine through his peacefully sleeping expression. He's not wrong. No one deserves to be hurt like Blaine was.

But someone as precious as Blaine  _especially_  didn't deserve it.

* * *

His parents tell him over dinner that they're going to spend the next couple of days at the hospital with Lillian and is he interested in joining them? Sebastian looks down at his chicken, which is overcooked and tastes like chalk, and politely declines.

His father sighs with disappointment, his mother shakes her head with disappointment, and Sebastian moves away from the table without eating another mouthful.

He wants the attention of his parents, but he thinks they might only ever be disappointed in his decision to protect his sanity.

* * *

Instead of visiting the hospital the next day, Sebastian meets up with Terry. Terry's basically the leader of his favourite dropkicks and he's pleased that his text from the night before has been fulfilled. He exchanges the cash he won't spend on presents for four brandy bottles, a quarter ounce and some papers and filters. He figures this is a Christmas present to himself.

It's not like his parents will give him anything anyway.

He carefully stores his stash in his closet when he gets home instead of under the bed. He's long since felt that under the bed and in the bedside table are the first places any parent would look for contraband, but he's definitely entertained the idea of purchasing a jumbo box of extra-large condoms and an enormous bottle of lube. He'd love to see their reactions as they confronted him.

The worst part is that it quickly becomes incredibly boring to be in his room alone. He has school work he could – should – do and friends he's distanced himself from the past few months that he could call and catch up with, but there's a profound disinterest in doing any of that. He flops onto the bed and closes his eyes, trying to imagine he's anywhere else but this crap town.

* * *

His parents don't speak much at dinner that night. He's not sure why. Maybe they're still disappointed he wouldn't accompany them, but honestly, he visits Lillian every other day and she's rarely conscious for more than a few minutes each time. Visiting her with his parents in tow, who probably look at her with watery eyes and mentally making bargains with some stupid God he doesn't believe in…

 _Please_.

He declines their renewed offer to join them the following day and discards his overcooked sausages in the bin as he departs the kitchen and heads upstairs. The loneliness he feels is crushing, because it's the first Christmas since Lillian got diagnosed that she hasn't been home. There's usually festivities filled with false cheer for her benefit, a tackily decorated Christmas tree with neatly wrapped presents beneath it. Last year, he'd gotten a laptop. The year before that, he'd gotten an X-Box. The year before that, he'd gotten a mobile phone. It had been clearly explained to him that, since Lillian was sick, his parents might need to contact him in a hurry.

Annoyed that his Christmas present carried such negative connotations, he hadn't charged it for a week just to spite them.

He doesn't expect anything this year. His parents haven't had the time to go shopping since Lillian was admitted to the PICU and there's nothing Sebastian really wants except: 1) his sister to get better and 2) his parents to remember he exists in this shitty excuse for a family.

Straining his hearing for his parents to potentially come upstairs, he rolls a quick, haphazard joint and conceals it in his wallet. It's freezing outside – the snow had been steadily piling up for the past couple of weeks – but maybe if he gets high enough, he'll no longer realise he's just as cold on the inside.

He calls out that he's going to a friend's place and shuts the door a little too loudly on his way out. He doubts his parents believe him, but he knows they won't ask.

* * *

He brushes snow off the swing and sways in the dark stillness of the night. The cold scrapes icy nails down his cheeks and into his lungs every time he breathes, but he doesn't really notice it. He waits a few minutes in the park, making sure there's no one lurking around, before he frees the joint from his wallet and pulls the lighter out of his pocket.

It's an oddly alluring feeling, the heated smoke combining with the chilled air, rattling around in his chest before he exhales. Getting high is about the only thing that brings a smile to his face these days, that relaxes him enough to stop thinking about Lillian's ill-health so much. He takes a second, third, fourth hit before he figures that's probably more than he should have on his own and stubs the tip in the snow by his feet, returning the joint to his wallet. He rocks back and forward on the swing aimlessly as the tension in his muscles finally loosens enough to the extent he feels like a wet noodle and the worry doesn't sit on his chest so heavily.

His thoughts drift to considering how close it is to Christmas. Statistically, organ donations increase at Christmas because fatal accidents increase. If there's any chance that Santa or God or whoever the fuck grants magical wishes in this word wants to shine some light on Lillian, this is the time of year to be doing it. Unfortunately, statistics don't always give you what you want. It's been four years of waiting for Lillian and he wonders if his parents are right, if this is the last Christmas she has left.

Far away, the wail of a siren cuts through the silence of the night.

He can't help wondering if someone with Lillian's blood type is dying.

His jeans vibrate and chime so unexpectedly that he startles and loses his grip on the chains. He's so high that he loses his balance and topples backwards into the snow bank behind him. His long legs are still hooked over the seat of the swing and he starts giggling for a reason he can't try to explain.

The vibrating stops and he realises he'd forgotten about it. Humming a lullaby he once hummed to Lillian himself, he frees it from his pockets at about the same time as it shudders to musical life in his hands again. The number isn't one he has programmed in.

"Helloooooooo?" He probably sounds like a sick wolf howling at the moon and the thought of that is enough to make him laugh again.

"Uh… Is this Sebastian?"

He clamps his mouth shut as much as he can manage when his body isn't quite cooperating with his mental decisions. Whatever the call is about, it's not one he wants to have from this position.

He attempts to untangle himself from the swing so he can get off the snow that has seeped down the back of his jeans. At the last minute, his ankle gets hooked around the chain and he swears at it – although whether it's the chain or his ankle that is the object of his ire he's not sure – until it wriggles free and he curses again in triumph.

"Um… Look, if I'm calling at a bad time then-"

"My foot is in an argument with the chain of a swing, Blaine. I think it was a Venus flytrap in another life and wanted a human sacrifice," he explains,  _finally_ stumbling to his feet and towards the play equipment. He kicks off some snow and plants himself on the slide. Much more stable. He should have sat there first.

"What on  _Earth_  are you talking about? Are you high?"

He laughs and leans back into the curve of the slide. It feels snug and safe, despite the plastic being ice cold. "As a matter of fact…"

"Oh my  _God_ ," Blaine mutters and Sebastian wonders if he's put his foot in it, if maybe with this conversation he's blowing any chance of blowing Blaine.

Whoa, what? Where the hell did  _that_  thought come from?

"I'd apologise but…" He shrugs, waving a floppy hand out in front of him like it's a gesture Blaine can see from his hospital room. "What's up?"

Blaine sighs and Sebastian can imagine the exasperated look in his eyes. Maybe the boy is having second doubts about having called. Sebastian wouldn't blame him.

"I got bored," Blaine complains before switching tack completely. "Why are you high?"

"I got bored," Sebastian parrots, snorting at himself to the point of giggles when he thinks it sounds almost exactly the same as Blaine's intonation. He should be a comedian who does impersonations of other people for-

" _Sebastian_."

He grunts, unwilling to allow Blaine the chance to butcher his buzz but also not wanting to hang up on the boy either. He doesn't think he'd get a second chance at a phone call. "Christmas just stinks, okay? It helps take the edge off."

"And now  _you_  probably stink."

He raises his arm to his nose and sniffs experimentally. He can smell the Tide his mother uses to wash clothes and his cologne and maybe if he sniffs hard enough, he can smell the smoke and weed. "You take the good with the bad."

He can practically hear Blaine's eyes rolling in the ensuing pause. "Do you do it regularly?"

A grin spreads over his face as he kicks back and stares at the stars above him. "Why? You interested?"

"No!" squawks Blaine before his voice softens. "No, I just… I've never seen the appeal of getting high but I guess I… It's… I can understand it. Abstractly."

Sebastian snorts and runs a cold hand over his face. He probably needs to start the trek home before he freezes to death or becomes welded to the play equipment. "Your talking is even more disjointed than mine."

"Shut up," Blaine grumbles with a faint hint of amusement in his words.

Before he can get distracted and sit in the park for too much longer, he struggles to his feet and listens to the crunch-squish of snow beneath his boots. "Blaine?"

"Hm?"

"Don't think differently of me for this, okay?"

It's an insecurity that bubbles out of him that he wouldn't dare speak aloud if he was sober. He knows it's not the smartest thing to do with his time, but he's been trying to cope with Lillian's illness in the only way he's managed to find truly  _helps_. Now, after he's spent so many years of being overlooked by his parents, Blaine's managed to take centre stage in his world. If Blaine decides to ditch him after this, refuses to call and tells him to get out of the room when he visits…

"Seb, I…" Blaine sighs and Sebastian slows as he reaches the fence running around the park. His heart pounds in his chest, his breathing shallow as anxiety makes him tremble.

"Blaine, please…" He cringes at how he's pleading, how at this point he'd probably get down on his knees and clasp his fingers in front of his chest in order to gain forgiveness for something completely beyond his control. "I'm human and I make mistakes and decisions others don't like but…they're mine to make."

"So I either accept you get high or leave you in the gutter to continue doing it?" Blaine asks, his words so pointed that it needles through the layers of clothing covering Sebastian's chest and pierces his heart.

"I don't know," he admits quietly with a shrug and a shake of his head as he starts walking home. His buzz is definitely fading. He's left feeling like he wants to curl up in a corner of his room with one of the four bottles until he's numb, so numb that maybe he drinks through it to the point of blacking out for some blessed sleep. The silence stretches on for at least a block and Sebastian has to check his phone screen a couple of times to make sure the call hadn't disconnected.

"They're moving me out of the PICU tomorrow," Blaine says finally, suddenly, his voice so quiet Sebastian has to strain to hear him over the phone. "So you'll have to visit me in the kids ward when you come to the hospital next."

A tear trails down his cheek. It's fucking freezing, burning his skin, but he's filled with a stupid amount of relief that makes him sag against the Davies' fence for a moment.

"Yeah," he chokes out, looking at the corner of his street. He forces himself to keep walking and can see the porch light has been left on. "Yeah, I… I will."

"Thanks." Blaine sounds oddly distant but Sebastian doesn't question it. He lacks any form of courage when it comes to asking anything of the other boy. "I should probably let you go before I fall asleep on you."

"Okay." He nips his lower lip between his teeth, pausing by his letterbox. The downstairs lights are off. His parents have gone to bed. "Sleep well."

"You too," Blaine murmurs and  _then_  there's the soft click Sebastian thought he might have missed earlier.

He gazes at the dark screen of his phone for a moment before entering the house, locking the door, and creeping up the stairs. The low hum of a television filters under the narrow gap of his parents' room, indicating they're probably still awake. They don't call out a good night. They don't even check that it's him who has come home instead of a murderer preparing to slaughter them in their bed.

He strips out of his cold clothes into warm and dry sweats and a hoodie, huddling under the blankets and trembling slightly as the floaty high ends with an uncomfortable crash. It takes him a while to get to sleep as he worries over what Blaine might be thinking in regards to his habit, but eventually the fatigue catches up with him and he fades to sleep.

* * *

_**~TBC~** _


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
 **Word Count:** 6,351 **  
Summary:** Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.  
 **Warnings/Notes** : Underage drug use and drinking exist heavily in this chapter, as well as a fair bit of language (modelled off what I hear some of the boys I teach say...) **  
** **Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.

* * *

Sebastian wastes the following day by sipping  _just_  enough brandy to be numb without drinking  _so_  much that he topples off his chair at dinner to give away that he's drunk off his ass. His parents barely even look at him though, which he supposes helps with his attempt at concealing it. His dependency is increasingly getting spurred on by their neglect and he wants to throw it in their face, he wants to stand up and wave his arms up and down and scream, ' _Hey! Remember me?!_ '

Instead he swallows another mouthful of dry, overcooked steak and leaves the table without saying a word.

In between sips, he'd tried to read more of the stupid book for Literature, which he's woefully behind in. His eyes just couldn't get past reading the same sentence over and over and the words had a habit of drifting over the page, probably because he was intoxicated. He couldn't concentrate on it for shit and it had finally caused him so much frustration that he'd thrown it in and knocked an athletics trophy off his bookshelf. The tacky plastic figure had cracked upon landing and Sebastian had felt traitorous tears fill his eyes as he surveyed that the raised knee and outstretched arm had snapped off, leaving the trophy in three pieces.

A part of him can't help but think of Blaine and his broken body.

Mostly though, it feels as if Sebastian's mourning the loss of his childhood, mourning the loss of the last time he did anything his parents truly acknowledged and said they were proud of, and mourning the last time  _he_  was the most important child because he was the first born  _and_  the son.

It's not like he hates Lillian, he adores his sister above everything else, but sometimes, he really wishes she hadn't been born.

And then the guilt creeps in with sickeningly strong tentacles because he thinks maybe the reason she's so sick is because he's made that wish so many times.

Irrational?

Him?

 _Never_.

* * *

Blaine doesn't call that night and Sebastian can't decide if he's disappointed or not, fretful about the delicate position of their friendship or not.

It's impossible to deny that there's still part of him which is worried he majorly fucked everything up by being high the night before, though he doubts Blaine calling when he's teetering on the edge of being  _drunk_  would be any easier to swallow than his mother's overcooked meat dishes. He'd probably receive the same polite smile as Blaine assured him that it was fine as his father offers in his attempt to reassure his mother that the inedible meat is, in fact, delicious.

* * *

Christmas Eve dawns cold, dreary and boring as  _fuck_.

The plastic Christmas tree has been up in the corner of the living room for several weeks but his father hadn't brought the decorations down from the attic. It had always been something for the children to do, something Lillian took a childish delight in decorating with Sebastian until it was hopelessly mismatched and teetering to one side from the weight of the decorations.

This year, without Lillian around, their hearts haven't been fond of the idea of celebrating. There's a certain irony in the lack of heart they feel given Lillian's condition, and he can't help looking sourly at the naked tree which looks thoroughly vulnerable and lacking any sort of festive spirit or life.

He can't help but think of Lillian when she had the ventilator down her throat last month.

Given the state of the empty tree, it's impossible to miss that that there aren't any gifts under either. He keeps looking at it while a movie plays in the background, as if he can will it into blooming with colour and decoration.

His mother enters the room to see what he's watching, her eyes falling on the tree. She moves towards it, her fingers running over a plastic branch.

"It's not the same, is it?" she says, sounding puzzled by what she's looking at, as if she can't comprehend  _why_  the tree isn't the same.

He can't help wondering if she's lost her mind. The tree lacks the fucking decorations or any sort of present. Instead of promoting Christmas, it's just a green piece of plastic in one of the corners of the room.

Rather than expel his frustration at how stupid she sounds, he clamps his mouth shut and looks back at the TV. He has no idea what it is he's watching. Some crap holiday movie special with happy smiles and loving families that, in hindsight, makes him want to puke and throw the remote through the screen.

"Sebastian?"

It's that patient, almost desperate, tone in her voice which makes him pause the movie he isn't really watching to dramatically turn his attention back to his mother. Pretending to be annoyed because she wants to pay attention to him  _now_  is the only play he has available.

Amelia Smythe sits on the edge of the couch, cautiously keeping her distance as if her mere presence might make him explode and set the chair on fire. He thinks it's more likely that having her this close will make  _her_  the direct target and he'll spare the fabric, but maybe those thoughts are a bit too dark.

God, he hates Christmas.

"I know the past month has been really hard for you," she says, struggling to meet his eyes as if he's Medusa and will turn her into stone. Her hands fidget in her lap with a piece of red and green ribbon which is far too festive for the oppressively cold atmosphere within the house.

It's her attempt to make eye contact with him though which is about the only thing that stops him from derisively rolling his own. He's wanted his parents to remember he exists for four years and  _this_  is the crap that gets spouted?

"I just… I just hope you know that Lillian's really sick right now and we-"

The change in his mood is so abrupt, so swift, that it's like lightning has just struck the room. He throws the remote at the coffee table he's been resting his feet on, although by now he's already on his feet. It skids across the wood and lands on the opposite side with a dull clunk. His mother is watching him with wary, wide eyes. He supposes she knows he got his short fuse from his father.

"I'm well aware of Lillian's health,  _thanks_ ," he says, his voice that same sharp tone he's heard his father use when preparing an opening address to the court.

"Seba-"

"I get it. We can't have a  _happy family Christmas_  because we're not  _happy_  and we're certainly not a  _family_."

The words fall off his tongue with as much bitterness as the brandy had held the day before. He's glad to note that his mother's mouth has finally closed and her head is bowed in defeat. It fills him with a sick sense of pleasure that she can't even argue with him, that it's  _true_.

"Would it just be easier if I stayed out of your way and you focused on giving Lillian a wonderful time?" he says, his fingers curling by his sides. It's one of those questions he usually doesn't have the guts to ask and it makes him sound so resentful towards someone he truly does love in his own way.

"That's not-"

He realises once she starts speaking that despite his usual inability to spit out the tough question, he doesn't actually care what her response it. He's still too angry that everything  _always_  comes back to Lillian's health.

He waves his hand dismissively and walks away, ignoring whatever she's saying by humming loud enough to block her out. He pulls on his shoes and has his coat, beanie, gloves and scarf to pull on once he's out of the house and just before he starts running down the street with nowhere to go.

Anywhere is better than  _home_.

* * *

The worst part about late December is how dark it gets at such a stupidly early hour.

Sebastian loves spending warm summers in the park with Terry and his mates, passing bottles and joints until his limbs won't pass anything anymore. It's nice when the dusk just seems to go on and on, when the sun kisses his skin with warmth and reminds him that he's alive for a few brief hours. It's nice to walk home when there's still enough light to see, when the heat has faded from the day. In summer, everything is  _alive_  for hours, even after the sun has gone down. Couples walk their dogs and children ride around on bikes or play soccer in the streets and you can't help but really feel as though you're a community.

Probably some of that warmth he'd felt from the previous summers had been from the alcohol and weed he'd consumed, but that's nowhere near as romantic.

On the other hand, the best part about late December is that other people hate Christmas just as much as he does.

"Seb!" Aiden cries, throwing out a wobbling hand towards him with a pleased but drunken grin plastered on his face. "Dude! So good to see you!"

"Hey, man. How's it going?"

He shakes Aiden's hand before turning to grasp Terry, John and Mitch's in brief, manly grabs. Nothing like that lingering hand-holding stuff he does with Blaine. He doesn't hear how Aiden's going but he doesn't think it matters. The four of them are obviously pretty baked so he thinks they're probably absolutely stellar to cover a whole lot of feeling like total shit.

Mitch flicks his lighter against a cylinder of white, passing the freshly lit joint without him even asking for it. He mutters a " _Thanks, man_ " before he inhales, deep into his lungs, urging it to work faster than usual so he can forget everything from back home, and passes it back. John gives him a bottle in a brown paper bag and he chases the recently exhaled smoke with a few mouthfuls of vodka. Brandy's better but he's not too choosy at this point. He just wants to forget.

"So… Christmas, huh?" Mitch murmurs, leaning against the oversized coloured balls that Sebastian thinks is for kids to use as an oversized abacus. "Fuckin' hate this time of year."

"Cheers to that," Aiden mutters, raising his bottle for a toast with Mich.

Sebastian leans his head to the side, using his beanie and scarf to shield his face from the freezing temperature of the play equipment pole. He closes his eyes and lets his mind drift for a few moments, searching for that cloud he found the other day before Blaine called and he fell off the swing to land back on Earth. Literally.

"Hey." Mitch nudges him with a snow-dampened boot and he opens his eyes to the outstretched joint again. He accepts it, breathes in as deep as he can before inhaling just a little again, and releases the breath. He can feel the high creeping in, like a slow moving fog in the spring time. After a third inhale, and knowing he probably shouldn't take anymore after that, he passes it back.

"You're growing up fast, man," John says, pointing at him with a thoughtful look on his face. "I remember you choking like fuck when you first tried to smoke."

"Fuck you," he grunts and the other guys laugh. He remembers it too – mostly because he was so mortified at his utterly epic fail that he'd wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

"Remember when he had his first mouthful of whiskey and spat it back out again?" Terry teases, nudging Aiden beside him and they both start cackling again.

He sticks up his middle finger but he can't help the weak smile that plays on his lips. It's good to be around the guys, to trash talk each other and forget everything else for a while. He's never said anything to them about why he does what he does and to his knowledge, they've never offered explanations either. They have no idea who Lillian is or that she's sick. They don't know that he's hooked up with a couple of terrified-of-being-outed sophomore guys from school. They definitely don't know anything about Blaine. He probably comes across as another straight-laced drug user keen to forget his teenage years like them, capable of handling the verbal spars despite the difference in age.

"You know what we need to do?" Mitch muses, teetering dangerously when one of the yellow balls threatens to slide away from supporting his head. "Find us some chicks to bone."

"Hey, man. I got a girl," Aiden says, which surprises Sebastian enough to look at him. What sort of girlfriend lets their boyfriend get high and drunk like Aiden so frequently? He's pretty sure no one in their party of five drinks as much as him.

"Jerking your junk to the same hot chick in a variety of porn videos doesn't count, fuckwit."

Ah.

Not a girlfriend then.

"That's the last time I cover your tab, Johnson," Aiden grunts, tipping his head back to swallow another mouthful of lemon vodka.

"You know, I  _was_  serious," Mitch continues, looking around the group hopefully. "Terry? Seb?"

Terry nods slowly like he's thinking about it with a deep contemplation and reverence that only Buddha could compete with. Sebastian shrugs, not because it's the thought of sex with a  _girl_  but because he's found that fucking someone doesn't make him forget for as long as all of this does. His anxiety over Lillian's health usually returns within minutes, around the time that he's buttoning up his fly.

"Duuuuuuuude. What sort of fifteen-year-old guy are you to  _shrug_  at sex?" Aiden says, something in his eyes a little too calculating for Sebastian's liking considering how much alcohol he's put away. It makes him think about Blaine, about why he might have landed in the hospital, and he remembers why he's chosen not to come out to anyone.

"Alcohol and weed are better distractions to my problems," he says, trying not to seem like he's being so careful that it's a constructed lie and he's avoiding the question. "I've never found any chick on her knees capable of helping me forget for very long."

"He's got a point," Terry says with a nod. Sebastian tries not to be grateful that his excuse – which isn't  _wholly_  a lie – is apparently accepted by their unspoken leader. "Chicks weep too much about it  _hurting_  and  _be gentle_  and  _do you love me_?. It fucking kills your buzz before you've had the chance to get off but this," he holds up his brown-papered bottle with a flourish, " _this_  will linger with you for fucking  _hours_."

"A-fucking-men, dude," Sebastian says with a fist bump to Terry's outstretched hand, and he knows his little secret stays hidden a bit longer.

"And for that ability to keep Mitchy's dick in his pants, for which we are all very grateful, I think you deserve another drink," John says, passing the bottle which Sebastian accepts. Mitch is spluttering and protesting at the hoots, hollers and howls of laughter he's receiving.

The hours move by in a haze. It only really registers that time has passed because the bottles are empty, the joints have been puffed down to the filters, and all that's left is the five of them swaying on the playground equipment as Mitch and Aiden sing some terrible 90s song out of tune. Sebastian thinks it was by that group of British girls – one of them was named after a spice like cinnamon or nutmeg – but his brain stopped properly functioning a while ago and it's a pretty irrelevant detail anyway.

"Fuck, I don't wanna go home," John mutters, interrupting the intoxicated revelry by flinging a misshapen snowball at the ground. It breaks apart with a soft  _poof_  sound and Sebastian kicks his feet at the snow feeling despondent. He doesn't want to go home either. He's been putting off the thoughts about returning there for hours.

"Survive Christmas night with your dick of an old man and you can come crash on my couch the rest of the holidays," Aiden offers, his hand strongly gripping John's shoulder. Sebastian can't tell if it's to offer support or because Aiden's in need of something supportive to hold.

"Thanks, man," John says, struggling to stand straight and climb off the play equipment. Aiden's hand slides down until it's in his lap and he looks about ready to fall over – apparently Aiden was in need of something to hold onto – while John probably would have toppled headfirst into the snow if Sebastian hadn't been at the bottom and caught his arms, narrowly sparing him from getting a face full of freezing or injuring his skull. There's a drunken laugh from someone and muffled  _thanks_  as John adjusts his scarf and grips the play equipment as, Sebastian suspects, the spinning in his head stops.

"Guess I'd better go. He should be passed out by now," John sighs and Sebastian wonders what his story is. He's never really wondered before, he's never made much of an effort to  _really_  get to know these guys. Part of it is probably because he's younger or because he's tolerated for his agreeableness to drinking and smoking and offering witty asides. He knows he's not exactly part of the little niche of  _friends_ , but he thinks he's okay with that. Even if he doesn't know what sort of dick John's father is like.

But anything he might want to ask really falls in to the categories of either 'not wanting to know' or 'no right to know'. It's easier to keep meeting up with them if all he knows is that they all come from fucked up backgrounds but have agreed to leave that baggage by the fence to the park so they can truly lose their minds.

"Take care, dude," Aiden calls after his retreating figure. He, Terry and Mitch echo the sentiment as John disappears into the night.

"This shit always gets fucking boring when we run out of gear."

Mitch and Aiden laugh at Terry but Sebastian silently agrees. Sometimes he's someone who can't sit still because he's got an abundance of energy. It was part of why his parents got him into athletics when he was younger. He enjoys hanging out but once there's nothing more to pass, nothing more to  _do_  but sit around and engage in drunken, curse-filled conversation, it gets pretty dull.

He checks his phone about ten minutes after John's gone and it takes a moment to focus on the fact it's a bit after seven. He'll pretend he saw some friends and ate dinner with them – these guys are  _technically_ his friends, right? – and if his parents challenge his lie because it's  _Christmas_  and he should have been at  _home_  with  _family_ … Well. Fuck them. He's still fuming that his mother brought up Lillian, as if he has no right to feel unhappy because  _he's_  been forgotten. Instead it's all about how his sister is sick and just… He gets that she's sick but does that mean she's the only thing his parents can ever talk about and use an excuse for their shitty parenting?

Mitch and Aiden start singing again, louder than before. It sounds almost like cats being tortured by their tails getting yanked around. Terry tries to tell them to shut the fuck up before someone calls the cops to make a noise complaint, but Sebastian's too buzzed to really care. Everything kind of feels like it's happening a long way away, that he's drifting through calm currents of molasses and he doesn't have to think or feel or worry anymore. It's one of those rare times that he realises he's delightfully empty of concerns about Lillian's health.

After deliberately ignoring two phone calls from his mother, he knows he'd better get home before she calls the cops to search for him. He bids goodbye to the guys, feeling unhappy about having to leave, and hurries home as quickly as he can when the path beneath his feet seems to twist and turn. He curses the shitty government workers that couldn't put down a godforsaken straight footpath as he turns onto his street and beelines for his house in a bit of a staggering zig-zag.

He can hear the television in the living room and thinks he'll make a quick dash up the stairs before either of his parents can call him and reprimand him. He's probably a bit too unsteady on his feet as it is and the last thing he needs is to give away his antics at the park with the guys.

"Not hungry. Goodnight!" he calls but his mother storms out of the room, grabbing his wrist as he starts on the stairs.

"Not so fast."

She yanks at it and he stills, swaying slightly as he glances over his shoulder with no small amount of distaste reflected in his eyes for her. He might have had hours away from this place but he still feels a lot of resentment. He still can't stand her. The fawning over Lillian has reached proportions too large for him to handle. He loves his sister but enough is  _enough_.

She falters under the look, her eyes narrowing as she lets his wrist go. He considers that a success because at least now he can continue up the stairs.

"Where have you been?" she says, her voice following him on his ascent. It's more determined than he might have given her credit for considering her general failure to be anything other than pathetic.

"With  _friends_ ," he snaps, his hand gripping at the bannister in a mixture of frustration and dizziness. "You know, those people you see when your home life sucks?"

He looks at her in time to see her flinch. Good. Let it hurt. Maybe she'd gain some understanding of how much  _he_  keeps hurting too.

"There's no need to talk to me like that, Sebastian."

There's an element to her words which could  _almost_  pass for pissed-off-parent, and yet he knows her well enough that it's all just a front. She doesn't  _really_  care otherwise it would take more than his fizzling temper to remind her that he exists.

Fed up, he shuffles his feet around on the step to look down at her. It's potentially a dangerous decision because the stairs look like they're a long way down and he's a bit concerned about teetering the way John did and pitching face-first down them.

"Oh. I'm sorry," he drawls, not in the least sorry. He never, ever,  _ever_ will be. "It's just such a surprise you want to talk to me at all."

She flinches again and he knows that she's so ridiculously weak. She can't handle anything and he may as well be invincible. Deep down though, he's glad he's numb, he's glad he can't really feel anything but this brewing anger. If he was sober, he'd probably feel really fucking guilty. Then again, maybe this is just the best way to say exactly what he thinks and feels over this entire shitty situation. As far as he's concerned, the only person to blame for making him feel like crap is his parents for doing a crap job of looking after him.

Amelia Smythe takes an unsteady breath, regarding him with a small shake of her head. "I don't know who you are anymore, Sebastian" she admits quietly before returning to the living room.

The fact that she just  _walked away_  makes him see red. If he knew that walking down the stairs was a safe possibility, he'd probably attempt it just to wave his hands in her face. His fingers shake and his skin crawls as anger courses through his blood in splashy red.

" _Yeah_?" he yells after her, itching for a fight he knows she won't give him.  _Weak_. "Well, I don't know who  _you_  are anymore either, so I guess that makes us even!"

Silence follows his words.

There's no acknowledgement from her that he'd said anything or she'd heard it. It increases his infuriation and he wishes he was sober or younger, when doggedly following her around and hurling insults might have offered some sort of relief from this constant turmoil inside his head. Now that he's older, he knows that being an insolent brat is pointless. She won't fight back. She won't engage with him. She'd rather pretend he's not there. Maybe she doesn't want a son. Maybe she wishes  _he_  was sick rather than Lillian, because at least then Lillian could be her little girl and he'd be out of her way.

That particular thought makes his stomach turn and he stalks up the last few steps as steadily as he can, slamming his bedroom door so hard that it makes the walls shake. He can't get it out of his head that she resents him and wishes he'd never been born. He locks the door and paces around his room, ripping off clothes before he wonders if maybe a shower will help, if maybe he can wash away the stench of weed and alcohol and unwanted son. Maybe they've  _never_  been proud of him. Maybe they  _never_  wanted him. Maybe if he died and gave his heart to Lillian, they'd all fucking rejoice because they got the child they always wanted and the dead weight was…well… _dead_.

He clutches at his hair as he falls to the tiled floor, crying against his knees as it builds and builds and builds inside him, as he spirals and spirals and spirals, because as far as he's concerned and convinced, everything about this entire family dynamic makes so much more  _sense_  now.

The water is warm enough to thaw his cold limbs and conceal his tears, but it offers little other benefit to his distressed mind.

* * *

He stirs awake mid-morning on Christmas Day – no Lillian means no small child jumping on him at six in the morning squealing over Santa bringing presents – to his phone skittering across his bedside table. He groans because his head is throbbing and and gropes blindly for the damn thing because opening his eyes is going to hurt like fuck. He's fully prepared to rip the person on the other end a new one as he answers and-

"Hey."

And his mouth closes before he can launch into a tirade about it being Christmas Day and family time and go the fuck  _away_.

"Hey, Blaine."

There are a few moments of irregular huffing over the line. He's torn between thinking it's adorable or weird as he waits for the other boy to speak. "I guess I… I mean, I can't really say Happy or Merry Christmas given the circumstances of your sister but… Uh… Make a snowman for me or something today and smile, yeah?"

Right. So Blaine was embarrassed, not rubbing one out. Good to know. Though the image of Blaine jerking himself off is a good one.

He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth to hold back the yawn he can feel building. "Yeah, I'm not really feeling the spirit this year." There are spirits he could feel though – a bottle of vodka or brandy would do the trick nicely – but that's not really what Christmas was about. Even he, in his grouchy, hung-over state, knew that. "What about you?"

"Cooper came yesterday. He was…" Blaine sighs and he can imagine the boy fidgeting while he searches for the words. "He's been cooler about this than my parents, at least. They tend to look at me like I'm some sort of alien."

Sebastian smiles, tucking the phone closer to his ear and rolling over in bed to face the wall. "I know that feeling, and I'm not even the one with bionic limbs."

"They are  _not_  bionic limbs!" Blaine says indignantly, making Sebastian snort. He'd peeked at some of the x-rays when Blaine was out of it. That arm, leg and collarbone had a fuckload of metal rods and pins and screws embedded beneath the skin now. He was pretty convinced there was more metal holding Blaine's left side together than bone and thinks it's lucky he had such a dedicated team of surgeons willing to repair the shattered limbs. Others might have said it was impossible to recover from and amputated.

It's thoughts like that which make him cringe.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Killer," he teases, attempting to shift his train of thought towards a more pleasant destination. Blaine grunts.

"So what are your plans for the day anyway? Besides making a snowman in my honour?"

Sebastian hums with amusement at the thought of making anything for Blaine  _in his honour_. He wondered if he felt like making a snowman. Like the Christmas tree, building snow lumps which vaguely resembled creatures was something he'd partaken in more for Lillian's benefit than his own enjoyment.

"Dunno," he says finally. "Probably some disgustingly overcooked meal with company which was more deserving of seeing the inside of an oven."

"Wow. Bitter, much?"

There's a small wince considering how inappropriate what he said probably is, how he should never wish that sort of thing least of all his parents, but he still feels hurt and fractured by the conversations of yesterday. It leaves him shrugging and picking at the edge of his blanket. "Let's just say I'd rather not be here today."

Blaine offers a sound of sympathy that's far more genuine than anything Sebastian could have mustered up. He thinks it's because Blaine's so  _good_ , he's so at ease with offering himself and his pain for others to see while Sebastian is so guarded that he's not sure even  _he_  can find his way to the centre of his emotions anymore.

"I know  _you_  can't exactly call  _me_  but um… I'm here for you and stuff, you know?

Something squeezes around Sebastian's heart and he shuts his eyes, refusing to acknowledge anything about what Blaine says. Blaine is just…. _Blaine_. Young, innocent, fourteen-year-old Blaine who is ridiculously optimistic at all times despite being bashed up and left for dead. He's precious and vulnerable and Sebastian remains steadfast in his belief that Blaine never deserved to be hurt that way.

"Thanks." He fidgets a moment more with the blanket before realising his mother was fiddling with her hands yesterday and immediately stops. He doesn't want to be  _anything_  like her, to mimic  _any_  of her traits. He'll never be that pathetic excuse for a person. "I think I can hear my mom calling me so I probably should go see what the hell she wants."

It's a lie, a blatant lie, because he hasn't heard a door creak or even a footstep beyond his door, but he's afraid of staying on the phone any longer and potentially bringing his emotional guts up for Blaine to bear witness to. The thought that someone's  _there_  for him is… No one has said that to him. Ever.

"No worries. I hope your day turns out better than you're expecting." Blaine pauses, but there's something about the pause that indicates to Sebastian that something unsaid lingers on his tongue.

"What is it?" he prompts after waiting several seconds too long.

"Just… Be nice? It's  _Christmas_ , Seb."

Ah. So Blaine is one of those people that dances around with their arms outstretched to the falling snow, one of those people who walks through malls playing piped Christmas carols a month early and has a bit of extra pep in his step, one of those people who sees the Christmas specials airing on TV and actually  _watches_  them.

The fact he can have such an abundance of Christmas spirit from a hospital bed is almost demoralising to Sebastian's complete disinterest.

"I make no promises," he says, because being  _nice_  implies he's feeling charitable towards those he's related to. The worst offender is his mother and he thinks it would take much more than Blaine's imploration of being  _nice_ to get him to give her a chance. Besides, he's definitely in need of some aspirin before he ventures downstairs so maybe that will soften him up, though he's doubtful it will make him feel like being a decent human being for the day.

There's an exchange of farewells before the call ends. He drags himself from the bed to his bathroom, reaching for the bottle of painkillers behind the mirror and swallowing three with a couple of handfuls of water. He takes a few minutes in an attempt to put himself together into something resembling a typical fifteen-year-old boy on Christmas morning who intends to have a shower later in preparation for the proper Christmas meal.

The problem is that it's been so long since he properly attended school, since he had any semblance of a normal life, that he's not exactly sure what  _typical_  is anymore.

He shuffles downstairs tentatively, still unsteady on his feet and unsure about his stability in staying on the staircase without toppling over. Once he gets to the bottom, he realises how utterly quiet and still the house stands, as if it's holding its breath in anticipation. He frowns at the unnatural atmosphere within the house, looking first in the living room for either of his parents. The tree is as bare as the day before and still utterly vacant of presents. He's glad he didn't waste his money on pointless gifts, although he's resentful  _again_  that his parents haven't bothered to remember that there  _is_  another child they could show some love and affection towards.

His next stop is the kitchen, which is cold and barren of his parents too. He pauses to look in the fridge and sees that it lacks the usual Christmas foods. Perhaps he should have suspected it considering how little his parents have been home the past few days and weeks, but it hits him then that Christmas is being ignored, that the only evidence it's the end of the year is a naked Christmas tree and a pile of snow on the streets of Ohio.

Something starts to twist in his stomach, sickeningly tight and disgusting. His thoughts from the night before, that his parents never wanted him in the first place, rear their filthy heads as he explores every room in the house. The noise in his head gets louder and louder with every door he throws open to reveal empty room after empty room until it becomes apparent – until he's forced to admit – that he's home alone.

On Christmas Day.

His whole world shatters around him as he tries to get back to his room. He starts plotting about what he's going to do, about the effects of taking a bottle and a couple of joints to the park and blowing the day losing himself in their effects. Maybe he'll try to find the edge of oblivion, the place where there simply is no more and the hurt, the insecurity, which he feels about his parents' attitude towards him being ceases to be a burden to bear on his shoulders. Maybe then they'll have a use for him again, when his heart can get carved from his chest to be nestled inside Lillian's.

He passes the open door of his parents' room and sees a note propped up on the end of the mattress. His heart beats harder as he steps closer and picks it up to find it's folded around a brochure.

 

> _We decided to spend the day with Lillian, since this might be her last Christmas with us and you no longer seem interested in being a member of this family. Have a look at the brochure but know this – we have already enrolled you to start there on January 4_ _th_ _. Your dorm room will be available on January 2_ _nd_ _, which is when we will deliver you to its doorstep. You have worn out any opportunity to express a disagreement with your despicable behaviour and we will no longer tolerate such negativity in our house when Lillian is ailing and requires our attention to her care._
> 
> _\- William Smythe_

His hands are shaking violently as he tries to put all the words together, the page getting splashed with tears which make the letters warp and spread further around the page. He can't breathe, he can't think, as he struggles to understand what's happening. Every time he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him, he forces an attempt to focus on the words and re-read sentences that pierce every piece of his heart, soul and emotional core.

His world starts to crumble around him as he fractures apart on the inside.

With a furious, hurt scream that it's true, it's  _all_  true, everything he'd thought the night before is  _true_ , he picks up the wedding photo on his parents' dresser, the one where they look so happy and healthy and sickeningly in love, and shatters it against the wall above their bed. The impact quite possibly leaves a dent on the wall but it's nothing to how the letter has ripped him into shreds. He doesn't feel the faintest trace of guilt as he witnesses the glass smash, the wood splinter and the photo flutter towards the ground. He considers shredding it with his fingers, a final  _fuck you_  to the people that can't truly be considered  _his_  parents anymore. They are  _Lillian's_  and Lillian's only.

He's convinced they believe that the Smythes have no son.

His stomach finally catches up with his head and his heart, turning inside out and deciding to give him barely enough time to make a dash to his bathroom to empty it of its meagre contents. He clings to the porcelain bowl, sobbing and shuddering as he falls to pieces on the bathroom floor, and tries to grapple with the knowledge that he's utterly alone.

* * *

_**~TBC~** _


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
 **Word Count:** 6,488 ****  
Summary: Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. **  
** **Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
 **Warnings/Spoilers:**  Some minor underage drug/alcohol references. Some language. The usual tendency to try ripping readers' hearts out with feels.

* * *

Two days after Christmas – spent very carefully avoiding his parents at all costs – he catches the bus across town to the hospital. It deposits him on the front step with a  _whooooosh_  and he realises his hands are trembling.

They've been trembling for days.

He knows his way to the children's ward without being asked, but he does have to ask for Blaine's room number. It's almost a welcome change from the PICU because kids aren't generally in dire straits if they're on this ward. They aren't so sick that they could die suddenly, they aren't so injured that their bones are shattered into barely-repaired pieces… The pale yellow and green walls are more comforting than the sterile white of the PICU.

Cynthia, another nurse he recognises from his frequent visits to the hospital because of his sister, spots him from the glass inside the drug cupboard as he walks through the double doors of the ward. Something shifts on her face and he just  _knows_  she's going to say Lillian is in the PICU not the paediatric ward.

Seriously, does everyone think he's a total moron that can't keep track of his kid sister?

"I'm after Blaine Anderson," he interrupts when she walks out with her mouth opening to say something. She stills, her hands full of medicine boxes, and apparently awaits an explanation. "We know each other. I know he got moved from the PICU to here, but I don't know which room he ended up in."

She swallows, her blue eyes darting around uncomfortable. He knows he has no need to flirt with her like Therese, so he just wants the answer and then he can go. Blaine being in the regular children's ward means he no longer has to explain his reasons for visiting the boy.

"1320," she says finally. He offers a nod of thanks and turns for the corridor. "I'm sorry about your sister!" she calls after him.

He pauses for a moment, his spine stiffening. He suspects that his mother working in the hospital means everyone knows her child is here – again – and that Lillian is terribly sick – again. Yet he can't help but feel frustrated that no one ever wants to ask him how he is, how he's feeling about Lillian's sickness. They want to remind him about her and apologise for her health, as if that somehow makes it okay.

"Thanks," he mumbles, because it would be rude not to acknowledge Cynthia and he doesn't fancy her calling his mother to say that he's a jerk. Or, worse, having his mother find out he's at the hospital to visit someone other than Lillian.

He turns down the right-hand corridor, watching the room numbers decrease, until he comes to 1320. There are stupid baby animal stickers adorning the door, falsely cheerful and cheesy. He remembers visiting Lillian in the children's ward, the times they thought it was just a short stay for her battered immune system before she took a turn and landed in the PICU.

The memory almost makes him feel like vomiting.

When he finally musters up the courage to push open the door, Blaine's raised the bed into something that almost resembles sitting up. His gaze moves from the television to Sebastian when he enters, a warm smile breaking across his face. It makes tears prickle Sebastian's eyes and they fall to the ground, not quite fast enough to escape how Blaine's face falls into something concerned.

"Seb? What's wrong? Did Lillian-?"

He shakes his head, not even wanting that sentence to be finished. He's spent four years in denial about his sister's health and he's not about to consider how he'd react if she…if she…

He hurriedly trying to get rid of the tears with the back of his sleeve and tosses the brochure with the note at Blaine before he moves to stare out the window. He can't look at Blaine, can't handle seeing his expression, so instead he focuses on what he can see outside. It's not a bad view, if you like white snow stretching on forever and ever, hibernating trees – which look deader than his eyes when he woke up this morning – littering the landscape with twisted brown branches sagging under the weight of white. It's probably pretty in spring or summer.

If he focuses on it, he can hear Blaine's breathing. He can hear the shallow inhalations that have a faint whistling sound. He can hear the beep of his monitor and the beeps of IVs and alerts beyond the room. Everything seems to be as silent and still as it is outside, yet Sebastian knows his world has turned inside out. He's not sure how Blaine feels, they haven't known each other  _that_  long, but it still feels like his heart is getting carved out of his chest for reasons he doesn't understand.

"I really want to get up and hug you but I can't and you have no idea how infuriating this is," Blaine says, his voice a harsh, frustrated growl. Something hits Sebastian's back and clatters to the floor by his heel. When he looks behind him, it's a pen. "Come sit here, for God's sake."

He tries to ignore that his hands are shaking as pulls up one of the generic pale yellow chairs on Blaine's right side. Blaine reaches a hand for him automatically and it's as familiar as always when he winds their fingers together. Something squeezes in his chest and it brings tears to his eyes before he wants to acknowledge that they're there. He's gotten good at denial.

"I'm sorry, I just… I don't even…" His attempt at a sentence falters when he realises he doesn't have an explanation. It's been days and he's  _still_  trying to process it all. It's been days and he  _still_  feels absolutely raw.

"Shhh," Blaine whispers, loosening their hands to run his fingers through Sebastian's hair instead. It feels almost motherly and when he thinks about what his own mother is willing to do to get rid of him, he can't help but feel even more overwhelmingly distraught. "It's okay, Seb. Just breathe."

"It's  _not_  okay," he snaps, but it's weak and exhausted and terribly pained as he lays his head against Blaine's mattress by the boy's hip and a sob shudders out of him. Blaine's hand stills against the side of his head before it resumes moving again and he struggles to keep his emotions in check.

He's terrified of being surrounded by posh schoolboy brats. He's scared that there will be reduced opportunities to flirt with girls and maybe he'll end up having sex with a guy just because he'll need to get off. Wouldn't that prove he's gay? How would his parents handle him then?

He's terrified of losing Terry and the other guys, because he doubts he'll be able to get alcohol and weed into a posh boarding school. He's scared of how he's meant to handle his parents' abandonment, Lillian's illness, a new school, new people, without the option of getting trashed when he can no longer cope with his thoughts. Wouldn't that just prove he's a drug addict that craves a fix to keep himself together?

He's terrified of sucking at school because he knows he'll have less excuse for not attending classes when he fucking  _lives_  on campus now. He's scared that he's missed so many years, so many classes, that he's not sure any of it is going to make sense. He's tried reading the brochure for days but the words have just swum around and mocked him because he's too hysterical to focus.

He's terrified of not being able to visit Blaine whenever he wants, to steal some of the boy's comfort in moments like this as well as see Blaine gain strength as he improves. He's scared of their fledgling friendship falling to pieces and then he's not sure what he'll have, who he'll have, that he can count on.

Most of all, he's terrified of not being able to be close to Lillian. He can't even think past the terror of her health getting worse and he's nowhere around.

Blaine keeps moving his fingers through Sebastian's hair, steady and rhythmical. Gradually it helps settle the jumping of his thoughts, some of the overwhelming feelings fading into something more manageable. He's still not sure he can properly think straight but maybe he's gay, so he never really  _will_  think straight.

Oh wow, that was a piss-poor joke, even for him. His brain mocks his pitiful, conflicted thoughts.

"Maybe it'll be good for you?" Blaine asks gently, tilting up his chin and wiping awkwardly at his cheeks with an unsteady thumb. There's still a cannula attached to the back of his hand which restricts his movements, but Sebastian is oddly grateful for the care the other boy is offering him without being asked.

"How?  _How_  is this going to be good for me?" He hasn't been able to come up with one good thing in two fucking days. All he's been feeling is varying levels of panic and despair and trying to numb it with the whiskey in his closet.

"Well, it's probably safer than public school," Blaine shrugs with an uncertain smile. His thumb lingers on Sebastian's cheek a moment too long to be normal and he finds himself looking away to end the contact. "Education is important and all that stuff parents like to spout as reasons for sending you to a hellish location."

Sebastian lowers his head in shame, wiping his face with his sleeve. Blaine's had it so much worse than him and here he is, unable to accept the comfort he's craved for days. "They're just sending me there so they don't have to see me anymore. I always  _knew_  they hated having me around."

"Hey, you don't know-"

"But I  _do_ ," he cuts in, his eyes flashing dangerously when his eyes turn back to the other boy. He knows that maybe it sounds irrational to anyone else but he knows, he  _knows_.

Blaine falls silent and looks towards his casted arm, but it doesn't give Sebastian that same thrill of success as his mother giving up her side of the argument the other day.

"If it's any consolation, my parents don't like having me around much either," Blaine says with a grimace, clearly uncomfortable saying the words out loud. "I'm pretty sure they've decided that this extended hospital stay is the best thing that's ever happened to me, as far as they're concerned."

"Blaine…" Hearing the self-deprecation isn't nearly as good as feeling it.

"No, I mean, it's been like this for a couple of years now anyway so it's fine." Blaine waves away any attempt Sebastian might make at expressing sympathy, which might just sound more like pity.

So he changes tack. He asks the most burning question on his list before he can chicken out. Hell, he might not have an opportunity to see Blaine again after today, not that he's going to tell the other boy that.

"What changed a couple of years ago?"

Blaine wrinkles his nose, head tilting towards the door to the room with all its childishly gaudy stickers. "You know how you asked me not to think differently of you because you were as high as a kite when I called?"

"Mhmm."

"Will you think differently of me if I tell you?"

With a lead-in like that, Sebastian doesn't think Blaine needs to tell him. He can guess, he'd guessed weeks ago, and he's not sure how to feel about it – or about the injuries Blaine had suffered because others were disgusted by it. "You're gay," he says, rather bluntly.

Blaine stiffens, wide eyes turning back to him. "How did you-"

"You got left for dead in Ohio after a school dance," Sebastian explains, with about as much tact as a Mack truck. It shows on Blaine's face with the light that dims in his eyes and he realises that maybe he was too abrupt, too rude, too callous in his assertion. He tries to soften his tone. "I made some educated guesses."

"At least that proves you haven't burned holes in your brain with all that weed," Blaine mumbles, biting his lip. His eyes betray how insecure he feels, his fingers curling and moving away from Sebastian to rest against his stomach. It's like knowing that detail is meant to be enough to change everything. "I understand if you… You know…want to judge me and leave and stuff."

Sebastian snorts. He has no intention of mentioning his dalliances with other guys right now because he's pretty sure Blaine would think he's making it up just to make him more at ease. He also doesn't want to officially make any sort of coming out speech given he's not sure what he's exactly coming out for. Mitch's suggestion of sleeping with a girl wasn't exactly disgusting to him and it made him wonder if he was a freak.

"I already  _knew_ , Killer. I still turned up, didn't I?"

"I-" Blaine looks ready to protest because, Sebastian suspects, he's always needing to justify himself and his choices to others. Then it must hit him that Sebastian's accepted it and here because he whispers, "Oh."

"Yeah, so…" He shrugs and rubs the back of his neck when the atmosphere shifts into something awkward. He's not sure that holding hands is appropriate anymore now that everything's out there.

Well.

Everything on  _Blaine's_  side, anyway.

He feels vaguely afraid of holding hands now, because he's not sure he wants to encourage Blaine into developing a crush on him or if it'll encourage his own sexuality to lean more towards boys. He's not ignorant enough to believe that the wrong sexuality is contagious but the exposure of Blaine's desire for boys adds a level of complexity to their friendship that he's not sure he wants to have.

"It sucks about the boarding school, Sebastian," Blaine says, interrupting his wayward thoughts. He tries to look unaffected by it when Blaine looks at him but he's pretty sure it fails and he looks as miserable as he feels.

"Apparently there's no point trying to argue with it." He thinks that's one of the worst parts. He can't stand that a decision so monumental – so destructive to any hope of having a relationship with his parents – has been made and he can't try to bargain for something better. As someone that craves control who has been permitted to live increasingly recklessly for four years while his parents become increasingly distant, being placed in a school with curfews and a goddamn  _uniform_  is like something out of a horror movie. "Staying sober is going to suck balls."

Blaine's expression softens, his head tilting towards Sebastian to rest more comfortably against the pillow. His hand twitches against his stomach, as if he wants to reach out again, but he doesn't and Sebastian wonders if it's wrong to feel grateful that they're both showing restraint. "Tell me about it?"

Something shutters closed inside him. He can't possibly explain when it started or why he still does it. He shakes his head and looks down, ignoring the way Blaine's face falls again. He supposes he knows Blaine's biggest secret and it's only fair to share as well but… The only thing Sebastian  _might_  share is a joint if he's feeling particularly generous. His reasons are his own and no one has ever wanted to know them so he's never tried to think about them.

"Then you really  _will_  think differently of me," he says quietly and Blaine makes a noise of protest, but he doesn't try to argue. Sebastian wonders if it's because Blaine  _knows_  he might actually think differently of him. The worst part is Sebastian wouldn't even blame him. He's aware that underage drinkers and drug users aren't exactly on a path to success but he's never cared because he's needed the numbness more.

They sit quietly for a while and he allows their attention to wander towards some old black and white movie that Blaine had been watching when he'd arrived. Cynthia walks in at some point to check Blaine's machines and asks him about his pain. She shoots a look at Sebastian that he fails to understand and walks out when she's apparently satisfied with the answers and noting them on the clipboard at the end of Blaine's bed.

"I think you might be notorious around here," Blaine says thoughtfully after the door closes, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Notorious?  _Me_?" It's his turn to wrinkle his nose in disagreement. He's only ever been at the hospital for his sister and offered her as much love and care as he can manage. There was the time he fell out of a tree and fractured his wrist when he was five, but other than that, he's never been a patient that has tried the patience of everyone trying to take care of him.

"Mmm… Whoever would have thought?" Blaine offers a lopsided smile when he looks away from the TV, a condescending pat of his hand to the top of Sebastian's head making his scowl deepen. "There, there. It's not all bad."

"You're a jerk," he mutters, combing his fingers through his hair to flatten it back down.

Blaine giggles weakly before he clutches at his left side with a wince. "Don't make me laugh, prick."

"Don't give me ideas," he warns, but he can't help but smile playfully. Blaine swats at him and he allows the soft contact to be made with a mock gasp of pain.

He wonders if maybe he'll miss visiting Blaine more than visiting Lillian.

* * *

Blaine has Sebastian's number, but talking on the phone isn't as good as actually seeing each other. He'd packed a couple of boxes with Blaine talking in his ear but he knew he'd been distant, his answers hollow.

The night before New Year, he texts Terry and the guys come together for some sort of farewell thing. He takes along his three bottles of whiskey and bit-under quarter ounce he had left because he highly doubts he'll be able to take those with him. He also doesn't have enough time to consume them himself unless he wants his parents to hit the roof more than they already have.

When he turns up, Terry hands him some of his money back and he thinks that's why he's such a good guy, despite the easy drug supply business he offers.

"Jesus, you'll be all fucking… _posh_  and shit," John slurs, shoving his shoulder because he's too unsteady to manage nudging it.

"Unlike like your pathetic excuse for appropriate language," Mitch says, taking another puff of the joint he'd just rolled.

"Shut the fuck up," John grumbles, leaning his head against the plastic slide and closing his eyes. A few minutes later, a rumbling snore explodes from his mouth and they all nearly pee themselves laughing because they're so high and drunk that everything is way more funny than it's ever been.

He wonders if he'll miss these guys more than visiting Blaine and Lillian.

* * *

Since the confrontation with his mother on the staircase, he hasn't really seen his parents. It's like there's a war of attrition taking place, a mutually, and silently, agreed decision that he'll stay out of their way if they stay out of his. It's obvious he got the note because he broke their stupid fucking photo and maybe that's why they avoid him. Maybe they wonder if he'll break their faces. He's not even sure that he wouldn't pass up the opportunity.

New Year holds absolutely no celebration for him, but he does manage to visit Lillian and press his lips to her forehead for the final time before he's given the short-shift out of the Smythe family home. Despite it all, despite her taking the biggest section of his parents' heart, he's never resented her for it all. He's not sure why. Maybe it's because she's so fragile, so delicate, and it's all just some fucked up thing with her body that is out of everyone's control. He can't hate her for being sick.

He can hate himself for his own destruction but hey, you can't have everything, right?

He leaves his parents with her and says he needs to go and do something. They ignore him, or avoid engaging with him, so he walks out and swaps floors to the children's ward to see Blaine. He's dozing when Sebastian enters and he almost backs out of the room when he realises, unwilling to wake him when he knows how poorly Blaine sleeps, except a single golden eye blearily opens and he freezes in his tracks.

"Seb?"

"Yeah, hey…" He shuffles forward, his fingers twisting together in the pocket of his hoodie. "I, um… They brought me to say goodbye to Lillian but…well, I couldn't just say goodbye to her, you know?"

Blaine shakes his head as he stirs awake, his eyes opening as he searches for the remote that will raise his bed. The motor whirrs and Blaine winces when it jostles his ribs and his leg, but otherwise he doesn't give any indication that he's in pain. Sebastian wonders if he no longer notices it.

"Come here, dumbass," Blaine says, holding out his hand that Sebastian takes without a second thought. Any knowledge that Blaine's gay and Sebastian's unsure about his own sexuality doesn't matter. He holds onto Blaine like he's an anchor, like he's the only thing that will give him life and air.

"Now, you listen to me," Blaine begins, his voice firm as he squeezes Sebastian with all his strength. "I can still call you and when I get out of here, I'll add you to Facebook and Skype and text you all the time. This isn't  _goodbye_. It's… It's just that we might not see each other for a while."

"Blaine…" He's  _not_  going to cry, but it's not like Blaine makes that decision easy. Fucking hell. He almost regrets coming down here. Lillian hadn't been conscious enough to understand that he was going away for a while. "You've got… _months_  of rehab ahead of you and-"

"And I don't have a lot of friends," Blaine cuts in, his heavily casted arm lifting to bump against Sebastian's hand, the tips of his fingers tickling Sebastian's held hand. "My brother will only put up with so much, y'know."

He smiles, although he's pretty sure it's watery because Blaine makes a soft tutting noise. "And you think I'll put up with more?"

"If I've got your phone number and Facebook and Skype, I'll just keep harassing you until you give in and reply to my neediness," Blaine says, a brilliantly wide smile on his face that makes Sebastian choke on a sad laugh.

"Thank you," he whispers, squeezing Blaine's hand. "I… I don't have a lot of friends either. I've missed too much school to get to know anyone."

"Then you go make some at this new school of yours," Blaine says, his voice firm enough to border on a demand, his thick cast nudging Sebastian's cheek like a boxer before he finally lowers it. "And remember you might need to put up with my whiny ass from time to time, okay?"

Sebastian sniffs and nods, wanting to hug Blaine or kiss him or  _something_  that truly shows how grateful he is to have this sort of support in his life after creeping into his room while he was unconscious. Except he's pretty sure that a kiss might cross a boundary he doesn't dare cross, cause confusion – for both of them – he could do without.

"You better get out of here before your parents set off an alarm to lure you out, or we both end up in tears," Blaine huffs, his shoulders deflating as the fire peters out of him.

At least he thinks this is a hard situation for Blaine too. He's not sure how comforting that is but…maybe it's something. Maybe it means their friendship can last during his time of exile.

"Don't stop fighting to heal, Killer," he murmurs, offering one final squeeze to Blaine's hand before he hurries out and does something stupid he'll regret, like try to memorise what Blaine's lips feel like or his mouth tastes like or whether his tongue is tentative or confident when he kisses back.

He has to take a good ten minutes in the stairwell to calm himself down, more from his almost-hysterical tears than anything else. Hurt eats at his heart and he knows he's leaving shattered pieces of his soul with Lillian and Blaine for safekeeping. He paces around the landing behind the door until he can breathe through his nose and figures he can return to Lillian's room and his awaiting parents. He's not sure he has an explanation if they see his flushed face, red eyes and nose, so he just has to force himself to breathe through the waves of pain until they've swirled back into the emotionless box he likes to store his feelings in.

When he returns to Lillian's room, his parents don't even glance at him. He's not sure why he ever thought he needed to conceal his upset.

"Ready to go?" his father asks.

He shrugs, turns, and walks back out again. He can hear his parents following him and makes no indication that he gives a fuck about them.

He knows he won't miss  _them_.

* * *

Dalton Academy is a school for snobs.

Sebastian might have a tendency for brutal honesty most of the time, but he's also pretty good with first impressions.

A couple of bags of his things were stowed in the trunk while his parents sat in the front of the car to make the drive. It didn't take long – twenty minutes, tops – but it may as well have been twenty hours. Across town felt like it was across the world and he'd worn a fairly permanent scowl the entire drive, refusing to entertain the thought that he probably looked like a toddler who'd been denied chocolate at the Wal-Mart checkout.

As soon as they drive through the gates of Dalton, he knows the photos hadn't done the pretentiousness of the place justice. It's imposing and ornate and looks so fancy it may as well have been the home for Dante's Devil at the centre of his Hell. He'd previously thought the Hellhole was his family home, but now he suspects that it's just part of the outer circles. He can't see much of the carefully manicured gardens shown in the pictures because they, like the trees outside Blaine's room, are hibernating – dead – for the winter too, but he suspects they're probably as ridiculously extravagant as the front façade when everything blooms to life in spring.

He'd never realised how much he was going to miss his bland, filthy public school until he takes in the ridiculous front of his new school. He's not going to fit in here at all.

He wraps his coat and scarf tighter around him to keep the chill from settling on his skin. His father confidently leads the way and his mother trails half a step behind, their hands interconnected like they need to show solidarity in front of Sebastian. There's a stiffness to William Smythe's walk, once which Sebastian knows is used when his father is putting on the front of being in control, one which he knows comes from his stint in the military as a boy. Oh God, this isn't some military academy, is it? He hadn't tried to read the brochure  _that_  closely…

Alienated from his parents' show of support for each other, he starts to look around as they walk through corridors which look the same. If he'd thought the snobby, pretentious exterior was bad, it's  _nothing_  compared to the inside. He'll have an absolute field day describing this to Blaine when the boy first calls.

His father exchanges words with a woman sitting behind a desk – since when did a principal have a fucking  _secretary_? – and after a brief phone call, they're sent into a room filled with warm wooden furniture that absolute  _reeks_  of age, money, class and pretentiousness.

'Pretentiousness' is quickly going to become Sebastian's new favourite word because it fits his disgust for all that he sees.

"You must be Sebastian," the principal says, rising from his seat with an outstretched hand. A plastic triangle on his desk indicates that this is 'Dean Wilson James'. He forces his politest of smiles and accepts the handshake, offering a little more much pressure than good ol' Willie to make it clear he's not going to be some fucking pushover

"Take a seat, take a seat," James says after he's shaken everyone's hands and sat behind his desk again. His expression settles into something far more authoritative, far more the look of a principal.

Sebastian sits off to one side of the desk while his parents continue to clutch hands.  _Pathetic_.

"So tell me a little bit about yourself," James implores and Sebastian tries very hard not to twist his face into something that looks like he's smelled something foul. Like hell he's going to say  _anything_  to this guy.

When his silence is taken as a surly refusal to say anything, his mother leaps in, taking the opportunity to explain that their family situation is "delicate" because of Lillian's illness. James listens to her but Sebastian is acutely aware that he keeps getting looked at, and it takes a lot for him not to jump over the desk and gouge those stupid eyes from his head. He attempts to tune it all out, his parents exchanging stories of Sebastian's struggling grades in middle school and the even worse grades after his freshman year at high school. His mother suggests he's found the school transition difficult and his father claims he's lost touch with his middle school friends.

It's not true, because he knew Terry and company long before he upgraded schools. He'd also been glad to see the end of some of the jerks he'd been friends with in middle school, but he's not going to bring  _that_  detail to his parents' attention.

"We're…concerned about his welfare," his mother says, and it filters into his awareness. He refuses to look at her despite knowing three sets of eyes are on him now.

"Why is that?" Wilson James asks, as if his mother isn't champing at the bit to spill their entire life to a total stranger anyway. Thank God this isn't a therapy session or he would have walked out by now.

"Sebastian's defiant," William says, which causes Sebastian's brow to fall into a scowl. "We've had to privilege Lillian's care at the expense of Sebastian's life. Perhaps this is just his rebellious teenage phase, but perhaps it's not."

"He fails to take care of himself properly," Amelia adds and Sebastian can see her face turned towards him.

He decides he's about ready to walk out anyway because he doesn't have any interest in hearing his life story told  _for_  him.

An unsteady sigh fills the room. "He disappears for hours and I don't know where he goes or what he does. I'm pretty sure he was drunk and high before Christmas though," his mother says, her voice almost broken as she admits it.

Sebastian grits his teeth. She's a  _doctor_. Shouldn't she know the  _signs_  of intoxication? Then again, maybe she's as daft as Therese and Cynthia thinking he doesn't know which floor or room his sister is in.

"He's also not eating properly," William adds, as if it's merely an afterthought rather than something potentially important.

"I see," Wilson James says and Sebastian wants to stand and shout, " _Do you, Willie? Do you?_ " but instead he tries to focus on the calm he's found sitting with Blaine, curling his hands into his lap and continuing to look away, examining the books which line James' bookshelf, the plaques and photos and awards that take up the walls around them. He thinks Dean Wilson James is a pretentious snob too. "Is there anything else I should be aware of?"

His parents shrug, shake their heads – he can hear their movements – before his mother seems to remember he's in the room. "What about you, Sebastian?"

Oh. So he  _does_  exist, but only when it's convenient to remember he's there.

"I'm fine," he says, his voice utterly clipped and devoid of emotion.

"Very well then." Wilson James rises from his seat with a bundle of papers in his hands. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you all to Sebastian's new room."

Sebastian's parents move first and though Sebastian would rather trail at the back of the group, it appears Wilson James is determined to wait for him. Maybe the principal has seen students attempt to run off unless a constant set of eyes are on them.

James directs his parents down a series of corridors that Sebastian thinks he'll get lost among because they all have the same appearance of austerity and pretentiousness. There are artworks and tapestries, vases and chandeliers, marble floors and plus carpets. He's not sure how he's ever meant to remember the way.

The principal is still holding the papers when they arrive at a room –  _483_.

Jesus Christ, how many rooms does this place  _have_?

His parents enter first. Sebastian doesn't really care what the room is like. This feels like a rehab and a jail and a school rolled into one.

"Have a look, Sebastian," James encourages.

Sebastian tries not to sneer, because he has no interest in anyone being polite to him for their own conniving reasons.

The first thing he notices is the second bed in the room and-

Oh  _fuck_  no.

"I'm not going to-"

"We don't have single rooms available, I'm afraid," James interrupts smoothly, as if he'd known the argument that was coming before it had even finished forming in Sebastian's mind. "Your roommate will be here tomorrow."

Delightful. Is setting the mattress on fire an offence?

The side of the room which is clearly occupied is ridiculously neat and ordered. The blanket on the bed is perfectly folded down, his books at perfect right angles to the desk, his chair perfectly centred beneath the desk. He makes a guess that his roommate has some sort of perfectionistic OCD complex which Sebastian decides he'd going to fuck with as often as he can just so maybe a single room can be arranged because he makes his roommate so irate.

"Sebastian?" His mother separates her hand from his father, reaching out for him with something like an apology on her face. He sidesteps her, leaving her hand to close around the swirl of air left in his wake. He hopes it's as cold to her as her abandonment is to him.

He walks across the room, taking an odd sort of shelter on the side that his roommate occupies. Distance between him and his parents expands to the extent he may as well be in England. "You've seen where I'll sleep. If I can get my bags, you can leave to see Lillian."

"See what we mean?" William says, gesturing to Sebastian as if Wilson James is incapable of seeing for himself and needs some pointers on how, or where, to look.

Honestly, Sebastian is ashamed to think that he once thought his parents were intelligent because they both had fancy degrees.

"Perhaps you could retrieve his bags, Mister Smythe, Missus Smythe? I wouldn't like to be keeping you given Lillian's state."

Sebastian can't even stop himself from the revulsion that he feels because even Wilson fucking James is privileging Lillian's health over him. Which probably just makes him sound like a selfish, spoiled brat because out of the two Smythe children, he's not the one that's dying.

Sebastian knows his mom won't return but he humours the principal as his parents leave and starts examining some of the things on his roommate's desk. There are textbooks which talk about things Sebastian's never even heard of littering the pages he glances over.

"So now that we're alone…"

Wilson James takes two steps into the room and Sebastian snaps the book shut. The hairs at the back of his neck rise as he turns around. There's something that feels almost predatory about being left in a room with an old guy, something creepy that unsettles his stomach.

"Tell me, are you angry at your sister? Or jealous of her?"

The question throws him so suddenly that his surprised expression replaces the stiffly composed one. He'd definitely felt threatened by James creeping into the room.

"My sister can't control her health any more than my mother can," Sebastian says, his fingers lingering on the desk, the foreign books, before he pulls his arms back towards his body and folds them over his chest.

"Is control important to you?"

 _Yes_.

"What is this? A shrink session?" he demands instead.

Dean James looks entirely unperturbed by the stormy emotions he's whipping up inside Sebastian's chest. "I'd just like to understand  _your_  side of things a little better after you were so quiet during our intake meeting."

He scowls, hugging his arms to his chest a little tighter. "You're the principal, not a therapist. I fail to see why you need to understand anything."

James smiles like Sebastian just handed him the keys to a kingdom. "Ah, young Sebastian, I think you'll enjoy your roommate immensely."

Sebastian opens his mouth to say something but his father enters, drops the two bags inside the door, and walks out without another word.

As if Sebastian didn't feel abandoned  _enough_ , his father can't even an attempt a farewell.

Sebastian wants to yell, "And fuck you too!" down the corridor.

"I see," Wilson James says with a glance at the door, where Sebastian suspects his father is long gone. "You know, Sebastian," he moves the bags towards Sebastian's bed and leaves them there, presumably to be unpacked, "Dalton Academy is sometimes viewed as a family for those who feel they don't have one."

"I have one," Sebastian says, but the words aren't convincing anyone and he knows James can see that. He can't remember a time he felt like he truly belonged to his family.

James puts the papers down on his desk and meanders towards the door. "Everything you need to know about the school will be in that bundle. Your uniform and books will be sorted out tomorrow." The principal pauses, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinises Sebastian. "I have an open door policy if you ever want to talk."

Sebastian's halfway to saying that he has absolutely no interest in  _talking_ , but James has already departed and closed the door behind him.

And then Sebastian's alone.

* * *

_**~TBC~** _


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
 **Word Count:** 6,819  
Summary: Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. **  
** **Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
 **Warnings/Spoilers:**  Some minor language.

* * *

Dalton Academy is every bit as pretentious and snobby as he'd first suspected.

After all, he's good with first impressions.

He sits by himself at dinner the night he arrives as well as breakfast the following morning, glaring at anyone who gets too close. Despite Blaine's encouragement, he has little interest in making friends. He's slow to trust anyone at the best of times but given the cause for him being there, given that his parents have had to abandon him, he's even less trusting of anyone's intentions towards him. He's definitely received some curious expressions from anyone who dares approach him with a hopeful expression and food tray, but they also scatter surprisingly easily to wherever they usually sit.

It's possible he might have he's picked up more of his father's expressions than he'd like to admit.

He sifts through the paperwork that had been left on his desk, trying to make sense of all the muddled words. It's only when he's about halfway through, when he's seen it printed half a dozen times, that he realises the principal's title is Dean and his name is Wilson James.

The guy has three first names.

As if  _that's_  not pretentious.

Just before the appointed lunch hour – Sebastian's pretty sure he hasn't attended this many meal times in a row in weeks – the door opens to his room.

"Oh." A tall boy with blonde-brown hair, a ridiculously large nose and mouth, and a sneer that could rival Sebastian's stands framed in the doorway, a suitcase in hand and a jacket slung over his shoulder. "They warned me you'd be here."

Sebastian looks up, glancing over the boy. He seems relatively unremarkable but he already feels uneasy now that his roommate has officially arrived, that he officially has to share his space with someone else for the first time since his sister had gained her own room when she turned four.

He lowers his head back to the pamphlets, relatively disinterested in engaging in pleasantries with someone who looks as unhappy as him. He's both confused and overwhelmed trying to read about the various groups and support available for new students that he doesn't want to concede he might need. There are numerous brochures for the school itself which includes a map that has him thoroughly confused. There's a smaller book which details all the programs throughout the school, but there are too many for him to understand and all the words have begun to blur together. There are single sheets of paper with bell schedules and a class schedule and a food schedule and-

"Are you deaf or what?"

Sebastian  _had_  hoped that if he just ignored his roommate, the guy would get the hint and ignore him right back. He's not looking for an argument or a confrontation. He doesn't particularly want to acknowledge the guy's existence, but it seems that he might just get harassed into replying. He remembers his ideas to mess with the OCD complex by moving random items around, deliberately leaving them askew from the rigidly perfect arrangement just to see what reaction he might garner. He'd thought that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't do that if the roommate turned out to not be a total jackass. He can't help but feel vindicated that his impression of his roommate being a weirdo with his obsessively neat desk arrangement was spot on.

"I have a perfectly functioning pair of ears last time I had them checked," he says without looking up. He's spent the past day with his favourite dark grey hoodie on, the hood raised to shield him as much as possible from those at school. There's some twisted belief that if he dresses in the colour of steel, it will make him strong enough to avoid engaging with anyone, it will be his best form of defence against these private school boys he has no interest in being friends with.

"So you're just a jerk then. Good to know."

The boy, whose name Sebastian doesn't even  _know_ , waltzes into the room, places his duffle bag on his desk and begins to stow his coat and scarf in his small cupboard. Sebastian stares at his back, bewildered about why this boy has such a chip on his shoulder.

"At least I'm not a private school brat," he mutters, discarding the pamphlets and brochures so he can focus on trying to understand the class schedule. It looks more complicated than the one he'd had at public school although he likes seeing some time off on Tuesdays for sport.

" _Excuse_  me?"

His eyes flick up to see the other boy watching him. He can't stop the smirk from twitching at his lips, his sarcasm flickering alive again. "You're excused."

"Now listen here, I got a roommate and I don't care if-"

"You know what? I wish I  _was_  deaf," Sebastian interrupts, shoving the papers he's barely been able to read to the floor and getting to his feet. He's determined to leave because as much as he'd like to engage in a verbal sparring to release the tension from his shoulders, he thinks that nose could make a mighty good target for his fist. "At least I wouldn't have to listen to your arrogant bullshit."

"Oh yeah? And who wants to listen to your pathetic attempt at an insult?"

His roommate advances on him because clearly he's a fool who doesn't realise Sebastian's not a small guy and is hardly afraid of getting physical. It's not until he properly raises his head that he realises they're pretty close in height, although the other guy has a bit more width to his shoulders, a bit more swell to his biceps.

"I am  _really_  not in the mood," Sebastian says as he shoves his feet into his shoes to move out the door. It's only when he gets his hand on the handle and gets shoved from behind into the wood that his patience snaps and oh, okay,  _fine_.

Have it that way then.

Sebastian turns and pushes back. Something tickles his memory, the dim thought that this school was meant to have a no-bullying policy, that violence wasn't tolerated, that-

His back finds the wall beside the door, his hands pinned to his sides with a surprising amount of strength. He tries wriggling free, his chest heaving with anger, and it's not in the least comforting that his roommate's eyes are sparkling with a similar fury. Rather than fighting back, he swaps into analytical mode to re-assess the situation. He's been capable of defending himself before, but this is different. All roads he could have taken led to this outcome. He'd tried to leave and ended up confronted anyway. He's furious as he tries to figure out how the hell to get himself out of this outcome, to push back and get away and-

"For God's sake, Clarington! Stop hazing the newbie!"

A small Asian boy stands with folded arms in the doorway beside them and Clarington – he hopes that's a surname because if it's a first name, he's going to have a fucking field day – drops his hands from Sebastian's wrists with a final scowl.

"Wes Montgomery," the Asian introduces, hand outstretched towards him. He eyes it suspiciously because it seems too congenial, too much of a step towards acknowledging someone on the path to some disgusting  _friendship_. "Your idiotic roommate is Hunter Clarington."

 _Hunter_  is his first name?

Scratch that.

Sebastian's going to have a fucking field  _month_.

* * *

For almost twenty-four hours, he's avoided anything that resembles being  _friendly_  towards anyone. First impressions at a new school are  _everything_  and as a mid-year freshman transfer, he knows he has his work cut out for him to be as fearsome as possible. Ideally, he'd like to make others avoid him rather than beat him up. He's aware of Blaine's injuries, his suspicions it was because he's gay, and the last thing that Sebastian needs is to find himself in a new environment with no support. He'd always been able to count on Terry and John before to step in, bigger and larger and older than him, but he has none of that now and it leaves him in a dangerous predicament.

As he walks to lunch with Montgomery on one side and Clarington on the other, he has absolutely no opportunity to go back to his previously scowling ways from the corner of the dining hall.

And he  _hates_  it.

"So where are you from?" Montgomery asks as he passes trays to each of them, casually friendly while Sebastian debates whether he can break his roommate's nose with a swift belting of the tray.

He gazes at some of the food options as a distraction, figuring he has little choice but to at least  _try_  to play nice with these strangers. At least for now. If he's lucky, it might make Blaine happy when the boy calls. He'd just leave out the other details of glaring and getting into a fight with Clarington already. "The other side of Westerville."

"A local boy? That's rare." Clarington reaches for a sandwich and a fruit cup, so easy-going that Sebastian starts wondering if he's more than just OCD. Maybe he's psycho, someone that is hell-bent on lulling Sebastian into a sense of security before suffocating him in his sleep. "I'm from Westcliffe, Colorado."

"Seattle," Montgomery chips in, adding a plate of pasta to his tray.

"Charmed," Sebastian says, acutely uncomfortable of Clarington behind him. He doesn't think he'll ever trust his roommate as far as he can throw him after their altercation in the room within minutes of meeting. He's pretty sure that he wouldn't be capable of throwing him far.

He shuffles along the line, listening to Montgomery and Clarington chatter back and forth on either side of him. It's only when they get to the end that he realises he hasn't picked anything up. He'd gotten distracted by how increasingly antsy he'd become being near these strangers, his distrust making him uncomfortable. Were they expecting him to sit with them now so they could grill him? Was he going to end up surrounded by more boys, other friends of theirs, and expected to play nice with them too?

His anxiety kicks up a notch because he's totally not prepared for any of that.

"Sebastian?"

He shakes his head and discards his empty tray to the stack at the end of the line. He has to get out and get away from them and if that means he forgoes a meal, well… It's not like it's the first time he's skipped out on eating something.

"Not hungry. Catch you later."

"Sebastian!"

Montgomery continues to shout after him even after he's pushed through the door and out of the hall. He walks and walks and walks, his head down and his hood up, his hands in his pockets as his heart beats erratically in his chest. Paintings and tapestries and sculptures blur past him with the speed he's walking, his shoes crossing marble floors and carpet several times. He thinks he might have gone up or down a staircase but he's not sure and it's only when he ends up at a dead-end that he realises he's taken so many turns and corridors and he's completely and utterly lost.

There's at least one benefit to being lost.

No one else is likely to find him in a hurry.

He slumps down against the wall, wishing he had a joint or a few brandy shots to take the edge off his feelings, until they were reduced into something more bearable and less suffocating. He's been here less than a day and already he feels… Well, not  _homesick_  because he doesn't think it's possible but he feels… He supposes he feels pretty lost in this new environment. There are a  _lot_  of boys at this school, a lot of unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar personalities and unknown dangers. Clarington appears to be the loose cannon to Sebastian's short fuse, which strikes him as an incredibly dangerous combination. It feels like he's landed in a new definition of Hell after meeting Clarington and he won't confess to feeling  _scared_  but he really wishes he had Lillian to hold against him or Blaine's hand to hold, just to soothe the heart palpitations he's feeling as he struggles with his feelings.

He sits for nearly an hour, getting his breathing under control, imagining what it would be like to run away, wondering if he can smuggle in alcohol and weed, when his phone starts ringing. He pulls it free of his jeans, staring at the number for a long two seconds before he answers it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Seb."

Something unknots in his chest, some of the panic and tension threatening to spill over. He nearly starts crying, with relief or fear he's not sure. He misses Blaine already and he hates not knowing if or when they'll see each other again. His fingers trembling, he pulls his knees towards his chest and holds the phone a little tighter to his cheek.

"Hey, Killer."

"How's the school?"

"It's…" He swallows around the lump in his throat, wondering what he's meant to say. He lowers his head to rest on his knees, squeezing his eyes shut when they threaten to traitorously water. "I don't fit in here, Blaine."

Blaine hums and if Sebastian thinks about it, he can maybe see Blaine's thoughtful expression. "Your bratty personality isn't meshing well with the personalities of other snobby brats?"

He hates that his lips twitch even though he wants to chew Blaine's head off for such a comment. He wasn't  _bratty._  "Jerk."

"At least it made you smile."

"Did not."

"I can hear it in your voice, jackass."

He huffs in annoyance and Blaine laughs over the line. It's quiet and brief, barely a chuckle, but he laughs. It might just make Sebastian's day as he allows the sound to settle in a spot in his chest usually reserved for caring solely about his sister.

"But really, what's going on?"

He sighs and tilts his head back with a  _thump_. It rests against of the fancy wood panelling that makes Sebastian suspect a whole forest had to be cut down to line these stupid corridors. He tries to inhale deeply, tries not to feel as though everything is caving in around him again.

"My roommate shoved me up against the wall when he turned up. He's an arrogant idiot and I'm never going to trust him after that." Blaine makes a noise that sounds squeaky. He's not sure what it means but maybe it's because the boy is desperately against the idea of violence. It's not as though Sebastian could ever blame him though, not when he considers Blaine's injuries and the sight of him on a ventilator a couple of months ago. "They're all just so… I mean, I don't miss home, y'know? But I don't like it here either."

"Because you've lost some of your freedom?" Blaine suggests.

Sebastian grimaces. It's too much like James asking if he liked having control. He wonders if he's that transparent or if it's something to expect when you lock a teenage boy up in a boarding school against his will. "I'm definitely missing the access to that stuff that would take the edge off."

"I know it's not comforting of me to say I'm glad you don't have access to 'that stuff' but…" Blaine's voice trails away and Sebastian can't help but stare up at the ceiling, tracing the wood grain that swirls above him.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, knowing that they were bad habits that anyone would be grateful to kick. The problem is that he's now got a hole in his coping abilities and he's not sure where that will leave him when he truly unravels. He bites his lip as he starts picking at the denim of his jeans. His thoughts turn darker, his voice hushing when he speaks. "Do you think they'll call with news about Lillian?"

"Seb, she's your  _sister._ "

Like it's  _that_  easy.

His intestines twist into a figure eight around his stomach and he chokes on his breathing at the thought that something will happen to her, that she'll get sicker, and they'll leave him unaware of it. His parents could be killed in a house fire at this point and he wouldn't care but Lils… He'd never forgive them if they don't keep him in the loop.

"Yeah, but… Mom knew about my…habits and dad just…  _God_ , Blaine, I can't describe it and if she-"

"Can you stop freaking out for a moment and just  _breathe_?"

Blaine's voice is calm and firm in Sebastian's ear as he begins to tangle into a mess of anxieties over Lillian, over what could happen to her, over never finding out that she…she...

His hand trembles as he tugs at his hair, a lone tear streaking down his face as quiet sobs pass his lips. There's too much going on for him to cope with and freaking out is just the easiest thing to do.

"Just keep breathing," Blaine murmurs, over and over, low and steady and soothing. It takes a while for some of the unexpected panic to settle, until he's able to straighten out his legs in front of him. His hands are still shaking but they seem to be doing that all the time. "Better?"

He swallows and wipes at the tears staining his face. "Yeah…"

"Good. I asked my mom to bring my phone in next time she visits. I'll be able to start texting you then."

"You're cutting me off from your voice?" He tries to go for joking, tries to do something that's almost flirtatious, but it comes out sounding more strangled than anything else. He's not sure what he'd do if Blaine chose to stop calling him and he was stuck with words that don't make sense.

"I'm giving  _you_  a way to contact  _me_  when you need it, Seb."

Oh.

"Oh…"

"Yeah, so just… Hang in there, okay? Keep playing nice and trying to make some friends."

He thinks of Clarington and nearly laughs. He still has no interest in making friends and he's fairly sure that Project Move-Clarington's-Things-Around will go into effect sooner rather than later. "This place feels like a prison."

"So does this hospital," Blaine says, his voice airy but it puts Sebastian's complaint in its place and he wilts. Lillian's sick in the PICU, Blaine's bones are knitting together after he got bashed up. He's being terribly selfish. "You gonna be okay?"

"I'm going to have to be," he sighs, getting to his feet and figuring he needs to attempt retracing his steps before night falls and he's left wandering corridors that are unfamiliar as well as shrouded in darkness.

"Try to focus on what you can control rather than what you can't," Blaine says, far wiser than his years. The call disconnects leaving Sebastian biting his lip as he tries to remember if he turned left or right into this particular corridor.

He's not sure he can control much of anything right now.

* * *

Clarington is lounging on his bed with a book in his hands when Sebastian finally navigates his way back to the room. It's taken nearly an hour of wrong turns followed by more wrong turns, his frustration growing exponentially when he realised he was lost again. He'd already decided he'd take a photo on his phone of the map just in case this situation happened trying to get to class the next day.

Fully prepared to cut off his feet, he comes to room 483. He swallows his pride and his anxiety and enters the room, kicking his shoes under the bed and burying his face in his pillow. He almost feels like shattering one of his parents' wedding pictures again since they're to blame for this entire mess, but the photos he desires appear to be in short supply in a school filled with framed portraits of old guys and landscapes of places that aren't Ohio.

"About earlier-"

"Don't fucking care," Sebastian mutters into his pillow, prepared to smack his roommate's head into a wall until he's bloody and dead if it comes to it. Anything is more productive than a conversation with a roommate that might hit him.

"Can you try again without the pillow swallowing your words?"

Sebastian debates ignoring him, but given the utter failure at offering silence earlier, he figures he's expected to respond. He tilts his head out of the pillow and repeats, "Don't fucking care."

"What a charmer." Clarington closes his book and places it fairly precisely against the bedside table before moving towards his desk. He's not sure what to make of the apparent obsession with precisely aligning objects other than his roommate having OCD.

Sebastian rolls his eyes, disinterested in doing or saying anything that this guy would possibly deem 'charming' and buries his face back in the pillow again. He really doesn't care what Clarington might say or do while he lays there with his back open. Sebastian just wants to pretend he can be anywhere else but here for a while.

* * *

Despite Montgomery and Clarington's attempts to wave him over as he leaves the dinner line with a tray of food, he chooses to pointedly ignore them and resumes his singular seat in a corner of the dining hall. He has little interest in the meatloaf, despite the first mouthful proving it's better than anything his mother has made in recent months, but he thinks there might be eyes on his eating habits so he forces himself to raise the fork to his mouth with a mechanical regularity. The last thing he needs is anyone spreading rumours that the new kid is a freak with an eating disorder.

Sebastian carefully keeps his hood raised as he observes Montgomery and Clarington from a distance, sitting with a group of other boys who seem jovial as they make large gestures, laugh too heartily, touch too freely. He's extremely glad he decided to avoid that crowd at lunch and almost wants to storm over and remind them that they are  _all_  boys in  _Ohio_. Maybe he'd even take them for a field trip to Blaine's hospital room to show them the evidence of what happens when you're too casual with other males, but he's not sure if it would make any difference. On the other hand, he doesn't have to be part of it and that makes it easier to bear.

He leaves his plate with at least half the food eaten – better than what he's achieved at home dinners for the past months – and returns to his room without exchanging words with anyone. A parcel is by the door while a few suit bags hang from the doorknob. He pulls a face at the thought that it's his school books and  _uniform_. He's seen the photos in the reading material left on his desk and has already decided he's going to look like a navy-and-red penguin or a clone. Or both.

Picking up the coat hangers, Sebastian kicks the box into the room and towards his bed. The suit bags are unceremoniously dumped on the desk because he's never going to be pleased with forgoing his own choice of clothes to school. Maybe he'll care about the uniform and his lack of care for it in the morning. More than likely he won't.

He flops onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling blankly for several moments. He wishes he was numbed to everything he was feeling. He'd love to feel nothing, love to stand at the top of the slide with his arms outstretched catching snowflakes on his tongue and eyelashes. He'd love to laugh too hard while swapping joints and bottles until nothing hurts anymore.

Instead, he feels too much. He feels raw, his insides scraped out to the point of being hollow. He's been injected with hurt and pain, more overwhelming than he knows what to do with. He wants to reduce them to ash just like the joint he wishes he had.

He spends some time flicking his lighter, but it isn't nearly as satisfying as setting the flame on a joint. The flickering orange is entrancing and somewhat soothing as he extinguishes it and relights it over and over, feeling the heated metal grind under his thumb and probably doing some minor burn damage to his skin. He watches the sparks of the metal before the flame pops out like a magic trick, glowing in the low light of the room. He's not far from his old haunt – he's not several states away, at least – and he wonders if Terry or the other guys would ever come and visit to help a mate out when he's in desperate need of getting wasted.

"Jesus  _Christ_."

His roommate slams the door shut and it's probably loud enough that it echoes around the entire school.

"Have you lost your  _mind_? Put that away before something catches fire!"

"There is a lot of wood," he says thoughtfully, thumbing the cap back into place and twisting the silver square around in his palm. He wonders if that's a solution to his problems – burning this place to the ground, Dalton Academy up in flames.

He wonders if it would still look pretentious when reduced to nothing.

Hell hath no fury like a rejected teenage boy scorned.

"What the hell is your problem, Smythe?" Clarington approaches him, switching between hostile and concerned. He's not sure how to take the wariness, the caution in the other boy's steps after this morning.

"What isn't?" he mutters, dumping the lighter in his bedside drawer because clearly playtime with it is over and he doesn't fancy Clarington wrestling him for it if he kept flicking the flame into life.

"I've already established you had a pretty big chip on your shoulder," Clarington agrees, sitting on the end of his bed completely uninvited. Sebastian has half a mind to kick his ass to the floor. "But that doesn't tell me what sort of chip you have sitting there."

"You'd do well to keep your abnormally large nose out of other people's business," Sebastian snaps, rolling off his bed only to have Clarington's hand clamp around his wrist. It reminds him of the way his mother had grabbed him, the ensuing conversation on the staircase that might have led to this entire abandonment. He can feel his anger simmering into something more explosive

"What do you want? An apology for this morning? Fine. Have it.  _Sorry_."

Laden with that much sincerity, Sebastian almost believes that Clarington means it, that he truly  _is_  apologetic.

Or not, considering it's something that's practically snarled at him.

"I'm not going to get into a conversation that will devolve into braiding each other's hair at two in the morning," he says, attempting to shake Clarington's hand off before he plans on breaking fingers.

"Aww, you know how to braid? Did your sister teach you that or-"

Something flares, white hot, in Sebastian's chest. He twists his wrist hard and sudden, unexpected enough that Clarington lets go because he ends up in a heap on the floor. Rage fizzles through him, his foot pressing presses to Clarington's chest to force him down. Any thoughts of playing nice for Blaine's benefit have flown away, but he decides instead that maybe he can follow different advice, that controlling Clarington's words about his sister is something he  _can_  control.

If he doesn't teach Clarington that Lillian isn't to be mentioned, he's going to be carted out of here in a week in handcuffs for committing homicide.

"Don't you fucking  _dare_  bring my sister into this."

His voice is low and he's sure something crackles around him but maybe that's just his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Clarington goes to get up but he shoves him back with his foot again. The other boy stills and his expression changes into something that Sebastian doesn't understand.

"Do you understand that or is your skull empty? My sister is off-fucking-limits."

"Jesus, I get it!" Clarington hisses, finally managing to roll out from underneath Sebastian's foot and stand. "I'm sorry for bringing it up."

Sebastian stares him down, gritting his teeth hard enough that he worries they might just crack. "Don't do it again," he spits out, walking to the bathroom where he slams the door shut and turns on the water with the intention of showering.

Mostly, he intends to hide the tears as his anxiety over Lillian returns.

* * *

He doesn't look in Clarington's direction as he exits the bathroom, folding himself under the blankets and determinedly facing the side of the room that doesn't feature Clarington reading on his bed. He knows if he was examined too closely, his roommate would see his red eyes. He doesn't have smoking through a joint to blame this time.

"Night, Smythe," Clarington mutters, a gesture which Sebastian supposes is meant to be somewhere between apology and conciliatory.

Sebastian hauls the blankets up higher and ignores him.

* * *

An alarm goes off which is so earth-shatteringly loud he's fairly sure Blaine might have heard it in his hospital room. He doesn't fall out of bed, but it damn near comes close. At the very least, he thinks he's had a mild heart attack.

The noise is quickly dialled down, but his ears are ringing.

"Sorry," Clarington says, and Sebastian's getting rather fed up with the amount of apologies he's hearing for things which shouldn't have happened in the first place. "Must have gotten bumped louder during transport."

Sebastian pulls the blanket over his head and wishes he could pretend he didn't have bullshit classes to go to with a whole bunch of people able to look closer at him like he's the new lab experiment. He'd enjoyed the relative anonymity he'd enjoyed at Westerville High because he was 'just another freshman'.

But now…

Clarington apparently calls first dibs on the shower, if the click of the bathroom is anything to go by. He mutters a series of curses under his breath and shuts his eyes again.

* * *

Classes suck.

(The only thing that sucks more is the stupid uniform.)

He missed at least a couple of months after Lillian went into the PICU but his attendance hadn't been exactly stellar before that. Middle school had been a bit of a drag as well. After he'd given up his attempts at stunning his parents with quality report cards, he'd lost a lot of interest in school work. He could read when the words wanted to behave, he could write when he was forced into it, he could count one plus one, he could tell you the first twenty presidents of the United States and recite all fifty states and capital cities because he'd memorised his third grade teacher telling him.

What more could anyone want?

Despite the fact he'd sat in French for an hour, he's fairly sure that a class in a foreign language somehow made more sense to him than English Lit and Geometry. American History may as well have been a joke and British History? Well. The extent of Sebastian's British history was wrapped up in the Civil War and revolution, and not at all related to Queen Elizabeth I. In Geography, they were learning about weather systems and in Biology, they were analysing the function of bodily organs and in Chemistry…

Chemistry was about the point that Sebastian's brain exploded instead of the chemicals in the beaker and he walked out of the class.

He ends up sitting on the floor of his room with his back to the bed as a shield from being seen by anyone who enters. The flame dances in front of his eyes in an attempt to distract his mind, although his hands are shaking. He does everything in his power to try willing Blaine to call him so he has someone to talk to.

Someone knocks at the door. "Sebastian?"

He nearly groans because the last thing he feels like doing is dealing with someone who is either nosy or looking to be a model student and become a prefect when he's old enough.

Besides, what the hell is Montgomery doing here? They weren't in Chemistry together.

He doesn't respond in the hopes that the boy will go away, but then he hears the scrape of a key in the lock and quickly snaps the lighter shut and stows it under the bed. The door opens and it doesn't take Wes much time to walk into the room and see him.

"That's the oldest hiding place in the unwritten Dalton handbook," the boy comments with a wry smile, wandering to the other side of the room to sit on the floor with his back against Clarington's bed.

They're facing each other, although Sebastian keeps his eyes trained on the swirly carpet. He's not in the mood for prying questions that encourage him into talking. He's not in the mood for company. His attitude is sour and his anger at the world is barely contained.

"So I'm from Seattle," Montgomery volunteers unexpectedly, his voice light and conversational. "I've got two older sisters, one in her first year at Yale and another in her fourth year at Harvard. My younger brother is still in Washington with our parents and we Skype all the time because he's the only one left there and, well, Asian parents are pretty strict so he misses us."

Sebastian slowly raises his gaze to Montgomery, who's examining the cuffs of his blazer like they're the most interesting things he's ever seen. He supposes it's the boy's way of diffusing the tension and filling in the silence and he can't decide if it annoys him or not.

"I'm a sophomore. Clarington's a freshman, but he joined up to the Warblers so we became friends through that. Do you sing?"

Montgomery makes eye contact with him for a brief second before Sebastian looks away again and shakes his head. He wouldn't be caught dead singing in public, especially with a group of other boys. He consistently refused to even join the drunken yowling that the guys would do at the playground, so he's pretty sure singing with other boys is something that would get ' _gay_ ' stamped across his forehead long before he's ready.

"Pity. We could use some taller guys to balance out those who haven't had a growth spurt yet. Or in my case, might never get one."

It's a comment he'd heard Blaine make once, that he was small for his age and it was why he'd made such an easy target. Sebastian's not the tallest guy around. Mitch had several inches on him, but he supposes that for fifteen and a freshman, he isn't the shortest guy in his year at Dalton. He's seen others that are taller, boys who might be juniors or seniors with extra stitching on their blazers which probably list all the sporting teams they're a part of like anyone actually cares about their status.

He remembers the trophy he broke and his fingers fold into his lap.

"Are you not much of a talker or am I just annoying you?" Montgomery says, the lightness in his voice giving way to something less sure.

Sebastian has to think about the answer. He's not particularly annoyed by Montgomery's ramblings, although he does wonder why it's happening. And he _can_  talk, if it's around Blaine or he's intoxicated enough to lose his mental faculties.

"Not much of a talker," he concedes. He can see Montgomery nodding out of the corner of his eye like his response made all the sense in the world.

"Are you struggling with the change? I know you're a local but public to private can be a big step for some people to handle."

Montgomery asks questions in a way that's similar to Blaine – they aren't laden with pressure or demands. There's a gentleness to them that makes them feel natural, coming from someone who is genuinely curious rather than pumping him for information which is going to be spread through the school gossip mill.

He looks down at his hands and closes his eyes. The public/private step is the least of his worries.

"I didn't understand anything that was talked about in class today," he admits, feeling stupid despite knowing he's really not. He  _used_  to be a star student, after all. "It was all just…" He waves his hand, as if that vague gesture will make sense to someone he met yesterday.

"Dalton is very academically rigorous."

That's one way of putting it, Sebastian supposes. Another way would be that it's a load of bullshit that no one understood unless they were a perfect student.

"I'm not an idiot. It was all gibberish that kept moving around and I got sick of all the thoroughly foreign information."

"Okay…" Montgomery stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles neatly. "I don't know what the curriculum was like at your old school, but did you have a good grasp on that?"

Sebastian laughs, but the sound is pretty hollow and he thinks that's the only answer Montgomery needs. He couldn't have explained what he was meant to have learned in the first half of his freshman year, and he wasn't entirely sure he knew the past three years at middle school either. "Let's just say there were issues with having a perfect attendance record."

"Gotcha."

And just like that, he doesn't need to say anything more. Montgomery doesn't demand anything from him and Sebastian….finds he feels more comfortable with that. Even Blaine sometimes pushes a little too far for his liking. He's not good with putting his feelings into words and he doesn't like explaining himself too much in case it makes someone dislike him.

"So here's an idea that you can totally shoot down in flames if you want," Montgomery begins, his dark eyes fixing on Sebastian's face. "Hunter's difficult, I'll grant you that, but he's a good student and he's loyal once you crack under his shell. He'd help you out with catching up on the previous semester's work."

Sebastian's fairly sure he'd rather drink paint thinner than ask Clarington for help, but he smiles politely at the suggestion anyway.

"There's also a study group that meets on Monday, Wednesday and Thursdays. You don't have to come every day but it's a range of guys from all different grades with different strengths and weaknesses. We have a good system of helping each other out with whatever the problem is, building on everyone's knowledge until we know more than the textbook or our class notes. It's also a huge bonus when finals come around because someone always seems to know more than you."

Sebastian wouldn't be caught dead asking for help with schoolwork from strangers, but he humours Wes again by nodding and hoping his face looks like he's thoughtfully considering it.

"Alternatively you can fail to hand anything in, skip all your classes, and get held back a year. Hell, you could be permanently held back until you're old enough to kick out. I'm sure that'd make your parents pleased."

It's around that time when Sebastian realises there are two sides to Montgomery. There's the side that's an older student in the room, someone with wisdom about the system who might be a mentor someday because he strives to be helpful and compassionate. Sebastian can only imagine how many times Montgomery has tried to bridge the gap between struggling newbies and integrated students within the larger school network.

Then there's the other side, the one which clearly has a lot of intelligence, years of excellent education, and enough cunning to inflict sharp words like daggers into his skin. That side of Montgomery isn't just brutally honest, but instead nudges the borders of cruel and unlikable.

Sebastian knows that being held back a year would be very, very bad for any reputation he'd want to build, but given how much school he missed last semester and how little he failed to understand today, it might just be inevitable when May rolls around and the final grades roll in. He can't see how he's ever meant to pass classes with content as foreign to him as how to save Lillian.

"Dalton doesn't often let people sink into a pit of wallowing nothingness, Sebastian," Montgomery says quietly as he rises to his feet. "There are always doorways open to welcoming you if you're willing to walk through them."

Sebastian listens to the footsteps fade away after the door shuts. Despite still being on the floor, he lies down on the carpet and lets his pride and determination wage a war with his fear of failure.

* * *

_**~TBC~** _


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
 **Word Count:** 4,444 ****  
Summary: Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. **  
** **Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
 **Warnings/Spoilers:**  None in particular for this chapter.

* * *

Sebastian tried to stay as positive as possible throughout the week, attempting to turn up to all his classes and complete the work that was assigned.

The key words, of course, are  _tried_  and  _attempted_.

As the week progressed, he failed to exchange words or even looks with Clarington or Montgomery. Sharing space with someone you had no interest in talking to because they were a rage-fuelled jackass didn't make him particularly willing to open his mouth and tickle the dragon into awakening. Montgomery had kept his distance, although Sebastian wasn't sure if that's because he was expected to break down and beg for Montgomery's help or the other boy had moved on to other, better, people. It wasn't as though Sebastian was interested in confiding in him.

As the week progressed, the food in his mouth tasted increasingly ashy and the mouthfuls became harder to swallow again. He noticed when he was holding his fork that it was shaking, and then realised his hands were trembling. It had also led to some terrible note-taking in class when his pen wasn't controlled in his fingers. He supposed he could get away with it if only because it was a school for boys and boys generally didn't have good handwriting, but he knew he'd once been capable of better and wondered if it had anything to do with how out of practice he was. He refused to consider that it had anything to do with drinking or smoking the past few years.

As the week progressed, he found he was increasingly out of his depth with the content across all his subjects. Subjects he'd been good at in the public system now became subjects he hated the most because nothing was familiar. Subjects he hadn't been so great at before coming to Dalton were now even more abysmal. He was tired, frustrated, and had entertained thoughts of running away from the school on more than one occasion.

As the week progressed, he seemed to have developed a habit of getting bathroom passes and then disappearing for an hour rather than a few minutes. He knew such antics weren't going to be tolerated long, but while he had the opportunity, he figured he ought to take it.

The only good thing he could say about his behaviour recently was that at least he wasn't annoying in class. There were a couple of boys who seemed to struggle to stay still, who were constantly fiddling with their blazer or their tie or tapping their pen against the desk. He bit his tongue from snapping at them to be quiet but knew, as he faced the front and watched unfamiliar words and terms get put on the whiteboard, that his silence was only because he had no idea about anything so any contribution would just make him look like a fool. He could do without being laughed at.

Blaine called twice but Sebastian felt distant as he offered many monosyllabic answers. He wondered if Blaine had his own mobile yet and could text, but then though he probably would be doing that already. It made him wonder if his mother hadn't visited yet in which case… His mother only visited him once a week? It made him sad and he wished he could get out of school to visit Blaine and offer the boy some company again.

On Friday, rather than try to ask for a pass out of French, a note comes for him from Dean William James.

 _Well_  then.

He packs up his book and pen and heads out the door, taking a few wrong turns – seriously, this place needs signs and arrows and floor plan maps at every intersection – before he arrives. The receptionist waves him through so he enters the office.

"Ah, Sebastian!" James shifts his attention away from typing on a small laptop and removes his glasses from the tip of his nose. "Come in. Have a seat."

Sebastian feels wary as he adjusts the strap on his bag, losing some of his swagger under the clear eyes of the principal. He'd figures his behaviour wasn't going to be be tolerated long, but he had hoped it would be more than a week…

"How are you settling in?" James asks, hands clasped across his stomach. His thinning grey hair and shiny face is the picture of friendliness, but Sebastian doesn't trust him. Probably because of his position in the school.

"Fine, Sir," he mutters, his gaze drifting to the plastic triangle on the front of James' desk and wondering if his first name is Dean rather than his job title.

"'Fine'? So you've made friends? Understood your class content?"

He scowls and keeps his eyes lowered, avoiding any form of response because this is just like with his parents – only he can't speak sharply here. He's not sure what would happen if he got expelled in his first week, but he doesn't think the result would be pretty. He'd probably not be allowed to live at home anymore. Being turfed onto the streets in the second week of January isn't high on his priority list.

"Sebastian, I'd like to make a suggestion to you and you're welcome to tell me I'm an old busybody if you like," the principal says, too easily for Sebastian to believe there wouldn't be consequences if he  _did_  just do that. "I'd like you to find a teacher on staff that could mentor you. They can be anyone at all, young or old, male or female, but I'd like  _you_  to be responsible for figuring that out. I'd like you to have someone in the school that you feel you can trust, that can-"

"I'm  _never_  going to trust someone on the school faculty," Sebastian interrupts before he can stop himself. His glare has deepened at the thought of talking to someone who has power over him, at a teacher who might fail him in a subject just because he sucks at it.

James' mouth twitches, his eyes scanning Sebastian's face. "Is it because you think someone with authority will express their disappointment in you? Or because they might report back to me?"

Sebastian pauses to consider it, stubbornly glowering at James' desk. He wondered if it would catch fire if he tried to wave his lighter over it. It might feel like a victory if he burned the school down starting with the principal's office. "I don't know. Both. Neither."

James hums and leans forward in his chair, his hands and elbows resting on the table. "I could come down hard on you, Sebastian. I could say that your truancy of classes would lead to a suspension, although that's pointless given we're a boarding school. I could put you on a monitoring sheet so teachers know behaviours you exhibit and complete a form that tells you and me whether you're learning to curb them."

Sebastian increasingly thinks he hates this guy. He seems all nice and friendly but underneath…. Underneath he's just as slimy as any other teacher and it reminds Sebastian why he never planned on trusting any teacher or student in this godforsaken place.

"I could also say that unless your behaviour improves, then any weekend privileges you may earn would be reduced. The loss of such privileges may be an effective way to obtain improved behaviour as it would minimise your opportunity to leave and see your sister."

Sebastian raises his head, his gaze narrowing at the smug bastard in front of him. He hadn't even known there was such a thing as 'weekend privileges' and can only imagine getting out for a few hours to visit Lillian or Blaine or Terry. "If you're going to use my sister as a bargaining chip-"

"You're more likely to act out because you're angry at me for using her?" James suggests, his eyes sparkling and his mouth in a wide, friendly smile that makes Sebastian's skin crawl. He doesn't respond because he's not sure how he was going to end his sentence. He can't get physical with the principal the same way he had with Clarington. "This isn't my first day at the rodeo, Sebastian. You aren't my first student to come in and be unhappy, or to have a lot going on beyond the gates that makes your interest in school limited."

Honestly, Sebastian doesn't even  _care_  if there have been other people with shit lives. He's a teenage boy who has just wanted the attention of his parents for years. Now he's been sent across town to get out of their house. He has no access to his sister or his friends and he doesn't understand the work in class. If anyone had a shittier life than him, it's not going to magically make him feel better for being a selfish prick.

"What about if a mentor was an upperclassman? Would you trust another student more than a teacher?" James says, returning to the original topic of conversation.

Sebastian wonders why the idea of a mentor is so important. He knows vaguely what they are but he's never had one in the past, never needed someone older and wiser to take him under their wing until he's strong enough to fly on his own. It seems ridiculous and unnecessary to have someone that he's meant to talk to when he's never talked to anyone in his life.

He inclines his head to James' suggestion just to appease him, because he might,  _slightly_ , trust a student more than a teacher. He thinks of how he talked a little to Montgomery and he talks to Blaine sometimes, even though Blaine is younger.

"Then perhaps that's something to investigate," James murmurs, writing something down in front of him. Sebastian wants to stand up and demand to know what it is that he's said or done which is so fascinating. He feels more and more like this is a session with a shrink. He can see James' head raise from the corner of his eyes, the relatively neutral expression on his face. "Here's what I'm going to say to you, Sebastian. Are you listening?"

"Yeah…"

"You're a capable, smart kid who has gotten a little lost in recent years. Who could blame you? I wouldn't put a high value on education either if I was in your position."

Sebastian slowly raises his head, a frown pulling his eyebrows together. He's aware of the ticking clock somewhere in the room as the silence stretches into a gulf between them. Is this a joke? What the fuck is James playing at making statements about him when the principal doesn't even know him?

"I think you have a tendency to want to hide that you're not doing so well and I respect that, because men admitting weakness is pretty unusual."

Sebastian grimaces and looks to the side. This sounds like a shrink giving an assessment on his behaviour and personality rather than a principal. He's suspicious that everything being said is a load of crap, used to try and get him to improve his shitty disposition.

"Yet I also think that you can do a great many things here which will exceed the wildest hopes and dreams you might have for yourself right now, Sebastian. There's nothing wrong with being afraid and defensive, but you don't have to walk a lonely path."

Sebastian's thoughts drift to Blaine with that statement and he wonders what the boy is doing. In the conversation on Wednesday, Blaine reported that his doctor wanted to move him to the rehab unit in the next couple of weeks to start building strength in his arm and leg again. He wishes he could be there to watch and offer support, to be Blaine's cheer person the way Blaine has tried to be a motivator to him this week. If he had access to weekend privileges, maybe he could visit Blaine and Lillian and make sure they both knew how much he cared about them.

"I'd like you to try talking to one new person every day. Just one at any point throughout the day. It can be a hello in the morning or a goodnight at dinner. It could be to ask someone for a pen, even if you already have your own." James has these irritating brown eyes that seem to be sparkling with amusement at his own plans, like he was taking great joy in putting Sebastian in positions that would make him desperately uncomfortable. "From next week, rather than obtaining bathroom passes, if you're wishing to get out of class for whatever reason, I'd like you to come here. I won't get you into trouble or note down how many times it happens, but this is a… Consider this a safe place where you can retreat to if you need some time to yourself."

Sebastian wonders if the reason for that offer is simply so he'll stop seeking bathroom passes. It almost makes him want to hurl, so he supposes it's an effective enough offer. Why can't the principal just find someone else to dote on and make into a charity case? He can't be the only new student starting mid-year, nor can he be the only one with external problems. James had said as much.

James gives him a long, measured stare that makes Sebastian's skin crawl. Is he meant to all to his knees and agree to the demands? Is he meant to lose his composure and start weeping, lamenting the illness that ravages his sister and explaining that his behaviour is because of the lack of parental figures in his life? Is he meant to throw something, explode with anger so he appears less like the numb, empty, blank slate that he feels? Is he mean to bargain for something, bartering his behaviour for his sister until James agrees that yes, he'll come along nicely?

Without waiting for the dismissal, he picks up his bag and walks out of the room. He thinks he hears James sigh but he's not intending to turn back and look.

So what if he adds a crackpot principal to the long list of people who are disappointed in him?

* * *

By Sunday, he's buckling under the strain of the schoolwork he has to complete and the lack of sense it makes. He'd thought his Geometry homework would be the simplest on his homework list, which would take him half an hour to complete, and then he could start trying to read something for one of his two History courses, but it's been two days and he doesn't have much to show for it. He never knew numbers that he's been familiar with since he was three could suddenly become incomprehensible squiggles on the page. He feels oddly betrayed.

"Are you okay?" Clarington asks, interrupting his frustrated attempts at concentrating. They haven't spoken in a week. He wishes it could have stayed that way. He has no interest in admitting to anything right now.

"Fine."

"It's just that you sound like you're having an asthma attack over there with all that huffing and puffing. Unless you're trying to blow the school down because you think you're the Big Bad Wolf, in which case try harder."

Sebastian looks over his shoulder with an incredulous expression but Clarington is completely immersed in the work in front of him, his hand moving across the page as he writes notes which are probably a lot neater than any of Sebastian's.

"I have a lighter," he mutters, feeling annoyed when Clarington's shoulder's shake.

"So you'd get through the house of straw and maybe the one of wood. What about when you encounter bricks? How do you burn those down?"

Sebastian scowls and looks back at his Geometry homework. He thinks he's already encountered the brick house because this topic is a fucking brick wall. He'll burn the fucking textbook and then show that it's entirely possible to burn down bricks.

"Fuck burning down the pigs' house. There's more than enough bacon in the world."

Clarington laughs. He sounds genuinely amused as the chuckle rumbles free of his throat. Sebastian's not sure if he's glad of the reaction or not.

"So now that we've established you enjoy being cruel to homeless animals, what are you struggling with?"

This time, Clarington's definitely looking at him. He can feel the loaded gaze of the other boy on him. He knows Montgomery said that his roommate was capable and intelligent but after their physical altercation last week, he hasn't felt particularly generous towards the boy. At least Clarington has offered him the space to thaw and claim some ownership of the room without assaulting him again.

"I'm not struggling," he mutters, his pride refusing to back down. He's not someone who asks for help. He's not someone who admits weakness or failure. He's not about to start now.

"Oh?"

He ignores Clarington and focuses his eyes on the page in front of him. He's fairly sure the letters and numbers aren't printed properly because they keep swimming across the page, moving around like they're in a pond that's being stirred.

He rubs his eyes and uses his finger to keep track of what he's looking at, which only marginally helps.

"You're looking for  _y_  in these examples, not  _x_ ," Clarington says his voice so close that it startles Sebastian into dropping his pen. His roommate looms over him, a hand reaching for Sebastian's exercise book. "You start off right but wait, why did you cross-multiply these?"

Sebastian's fairly sure Clarington is about to declare he's an absolute fool and then spread it to the whole school. He wishes he'd brought his Academic Excellence Award along with him to prove that he  _was_  intelligent.

"Okay, hold on," Clarington murmurs, more to himself than anything, and strides back across the room. He returns a few seconds later with his chair, settling in too close for Sebastian's comfort. He doesn't understand why everyone just assumes he'll accept them being in his space. "Explain to me your thinking with this question."

"I don't  _need_  your help," he grumbles, trying to twist his body so he's blocking Clarington from seeing whatever work is riddled with mistakes. Possibly all of it, but then he'll deal with his disappointed Geometry teacher because disappointing adults is what he does best. Unfortunately, he now has his back to Clarington and given last week, it's possibly even worse to be in this position if he can't see an attack coming.

"No, you don't  _want_  my help. There's a distinct difference," Clarington explains, pushing Sebastian's arms until parts of his paper are exposed. "So I'm not going to ask you if you want it or not, I'm asking you what your thought process was so I can help you out."

Sebastian frowns, wanting to pull the sheets of paper to his chest defensively. Maybe he'll have to start studying in the library from now on, although then he could get the super nerds surrounding him and that would be even  _more_  annoying. "Don't you have your own work to do?"

"Tons," Clarington answers easily, shrugging and crossing his arms over his chest. "Now, are you going to continue to be an ass or?"

Sebastian tries to hold onto his annoyance for as long as he can while Clarington stares at him expectantly. He manages to hold out for about three minutes before his shoulders sag and he deflates.

"I don't understand any of what I'm doing," he admits, looking at the page where the squiggles continue to move around. He thinks they're mocking his weakness at allowing Clarington to help.

"Okay, so let's go back to the start. You can't do the hard stuff if you haven't understood the foundations." Clarington grasps his textbook and flicks through the pages. "Start reading."

Sebastian swallows as his discomfort with the fuzzy, meandering words gets worse. Every time he tries to look harder, to mentally tell the words to just fucking stay  _still_ , they seem to wiggle a little faster in retaliation.

"Sebastian?"

"I… I can't…" he whispers lamely, folding his arms on the table and pressing his face into it because he's apparently gotten completely stupid and now his roommate is a witness to his stupidity and his face burns with the shame of it.

He doesn't understand what's going on and he's scared that maybe all the drugs have fried his brain. What if he can't complete freshman year? What if he keeps getting failed and held back and then he never goes to college? His mother is a doctor and his father is a state's attorney and Sebastian's completely incapable of completing fucking Geometry homework. There'd been a pipe dream once upon a time that he'd become something great in college, make some monumental contribution to a particular field and maybe  _then_  his parents would notice him and be proud again. But now…

"Why can't you?" Clarington asks his voice gentling more than Sebastian suspected it was capable of. "Are the words blurry?"

"Sometimes," he mumbles against his arms. "They keep moving around."

"Okay." A hand lightly presses to his shoulder. "How about if I read and you listen?"

He shrugs, partially to get the hand off and partially to indicate he doesn't care what Clarington decides to do. There's some rustling as his textbook gets picked up from beside his elbow and then Clarington's voice starts reading out a passage of text.

Sebastian listens even though he doesn't really want to, although he gets distracted a few times and has to ask for it to be repeated. There are still a lot of things that don't make sense, which he suspects might be because of his absences more than Clarington's reading or his shitty ability to learn anything at the moment.

"Can you write down a summary of what I just said in your own words? It'll help you remember it better."

Sebastian sighs and peeks up from his arms to find his pen and start scrawling down the basics: something about  _hypotenuse_  and  _Pythagoras_ , something about  _units of measurement might change_. He writes a couple of sentences before his pen stills and he shrugs.

"Okay. That's a good start," Clarington says after he checks over his shoulder. "If I tell you what a shape looks like, can you draw it and fill in the details?"

It's an incredibly odd way to learn but Clarington sits with him for a couple of hours, reading out examples, describing the triangles, telling him the numbers to write, and then slowly helping him with working out the answers. He's still incredibly suspicious of Clarington's motives and fears for his reputation, but he begrudgingly has to admit that it helps and he gets through at least some of the work. He might have to explain to his Geometry teacher why more isn't done though, and he's not sure he's looking forward to that conversation.

"What about the homework for your other subjects?" Clarington asks suddenly when Sebastian complains he's had Math enough for the day.

"What about them?"

"Well, like… Is it hard to read those too?"

"Yeah," he mutters, folding his books into a pile to take with him tomorrow.

"Has it always been like that?"

Sebastian remembers the Academic Excellence Award. It  _can't_  have always been like that because he'd had a year where he'd done extremely well. The first year after Lillian got sick, when he was twelve, when everything was changing and he realised he was losing his parents' interest in his existence. He'd managed to read Blaine's medical details with enough careful scrutiny, so surely that meant he was capable of reading. And yet…

"I've never noticed it this badly before," he says, picking at a varnish bubble on his desk as a distraction from what he's talking about. "It's been a while since I've tried to do school work and sat in classes."

"So you might have had this problem before you came? And it's not just an anxiety thing?"

Sebastian frowns. "Anxiety thing? No." Although there's definitely a part of him which is anxious about reading aloud or speaking up in class in case it's something wrong, he puts that down to the fact he's new and completely out of his depth. "I'm… I dunno. I guess I'm just dumb."

"I don't think so. You got through the work."

"With far too much of your help," he complains, pushing away from the desk to go to his closet and pull out a hoodie to hide in.

"Good to know it's appreciated," Clarington says, almost bordering on teasing, as he returns his chair to the other side of the room. "Have you had your eyes checked?

"My eyes?"

"Yeah. You know. If you need glasses for the fuzziness."

Sebastian's never really thought about it. He can't remember the last whole book he finished because any time he grew too bored at home, he tended to go out to find something to drink or smoke. There'd been that book about knights and dragons but he hadn't been able to make much sense of it, and that had had moving words too. If he closes his eyes and thinks about it, he can remember reading Blaine's file with his finger running along the lines and shifting the clipboard closer and further away from him. He hadn't paid any attention to it at the time because it's what he'd always done, but now it seems like Clarington is pointing out that his abilities, or lack of, are distinctly abnormal. He's not sure how to feel about it and maybe, just maybe, it scares him.

"I dunno," he mumbles, pulling the hoodie over his head and tucking his hands into the pockets in an attempt to hide his discomfort and how badly they shake.

He can tell Clarington's watching him and he no longer feels like a gangly five-foot-eight fifteen-year-old waiting to fill out his height, but something as small and insignificant as a mouse. "Well if you want help with anything else, you only have to ask," the boy says finally, grabbing a few things off his desk. "Dinner's in twenty."

"I know."

"See you there?"

Sebastian shrugs and lies down on his bed. He'll eat something because it's expected of him, but he's feeling despondent about his inability to read something. It's fucking embarrassing to look like he's a simpleton.

He listens to Clarington pull on some shoes and leave the room without another word. He can't help wondering if he's losing his mind.

He doesn't want to start wondering if maybe he's already lost it.

* * *

_**~TBC~** _


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
 **Word Count:** 5,700 **  
Summary:** Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. **  
** **Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
 **Warnings/Spoilers:**  None in particular for this chapter.

* * *

The fucking teachers are in cahoots with each other.

It's the only reason for why all his lessons on Monday feature pop quizzes about the content from the previous week. Apparently they should either have learned it the first time or revised whatever they didn't know over the weekend.

Sebastian stares blankly at each piece of paper in front of him because even if he'd been more comfortable reading it, he certainly hadn't paid enough attention in class last week to know any of the answers. He attempts a few questions in Chemistry and American History, but British History and French are a complete waste of time. He has no background in those subjects to draw on and he's not entirely convinced that 'conjugate' is a real word when he manages to piece together the letters on a paper that tests a foreign language he's never studied.

By the time he gets to Literature, the last class before lunch, he already has an inkling of what's to come. He casts a look behind him at Clarington fist bumping some guy he recognises from the lunch table his roommate sits at with Montgomery. He wants to demand a reason about why he wasn't warned about this sort of torture. He can only hope that all these tests are something the teachers get off on, because it offers absolutely no form of pleasure to him or, he guesses, any of the other students in the room.

He muffles a groan when a paper goes down in front of him, although it's a bit different from the others. Rather than be specifically about the text they're apparently studying –  _To Kill A Mockingbird_  – it's more about comprehension of passages of text and a written component.

He puts his head down with his finger dragging over sentences to hold the letters in place, scrawling down answers in the space provided. He's feeling better about this paper considering it's not so much about things he doesn't know but rather basic skills. It takes some time to decode what he's reading and put together an answer but it isn't impossible because of his crap attendance at his past schools or his difficulty paying attention last week and for that, he gives it a shot.

> ' _Write a story about characters that are either good or evil. You should consider why they're good or evil and what they do which shows these cliché, but common, human traits.'_

He stares at the creative writing question for several minutes, chewing the end of his pen. He could write about Lillian compared to his parents, but maybe that's too obvious. He knows that the principal is already aware of his parents' concerns for his welfare. There's no need to put his life story down in ink for a teacher to pass along with a worried look.

Instead, he starts to write a story about Blaine.

He changes the name and the place, and he makes up a lot of details because he doesn't know Blaine  _that_  well. He writes about a boy with a secret that would ostracise him from society and as the writing develops, he remains deliberately obtuse about ever mentioning what the secret is. In some places, you could almost assume that he isn't gay but that he's a superhero, living a double life with a secret identity, or maybe, like Sebastian, he abuses drugs in his spare time. Throughout it all, whatever the secret is, the character remains loyal and honest, helpful and caring, to the people he encounters while something dark lurks on the edge of the story, threatening to derail the goodness within the character. He's never considered himself much of a writer, but he feels rather proud of the story he constructs.

He also never divulges what the secret is, because where's the mystery for the reader in that?

He puts his pen down and glances around him. Boys in blazers are still bent over desks, looping letters into words into paragraphs and it immediately makes him unsure that his story is long enough. What if it's too short? What if he hasn't answered the question properly?

His teacher collects the paper when she sees that he's done, whispering that he can continue reading the book if he likes. He wouldn't much like since he has a feeling that the words won't stay tethered to the page but he nods and removes it from his bag just so he looks like he's doing something.

When the bell goes, he nearly swears in relief and packs up his stuff to go to lunch. He's not particularly hungry but his brain needs a break and his-

"Sebastian, could you come here a moment, please?"

Or not.

"You're not in trouble," Mrs Fincher says with a kind smile, which kind of triggers the universal ' _Oh shit, run!_ ' reaction in any student. "I just wanted to talk to you about your work and if I can offer you some assistance since you missed last semester."

He offers a strained smile and shakes his head. He should admit something to how much he's failing to understand, but he doesn't like thinking about it. He's trying to convince himself that with enough time he'll be able to catch up. "No, it's fine."

"Can we talk about your test?"

 _Can we not_?

He bites down on a sigh and pulls up a chair to sit by her desk. She seems nice enough, rarely yelling in class despite this kid, Josh, who can't sit in his seat or stop his hands from thumping drum beats on the table, driving Sebastian mental. She's probably in her thirties, maybe her forties, and isn't nearly as threatening as the old woman in Chemistry who seems to be perfecting her owl screech of disapproval.

"Now, the first thing you need to know is that I got to know most of the other boys last semester," she says, sifting through the papers as she looks for his. "So this is more for me to get to know you and how to help you learn."

"Okay," he says slowly, watching his paper as it's pulled from the pile. He cringes when he sees that she's already graded the comprehension section and it's riddled with green.

"Have a look at the corrections first before you start worrying that you failed."

She must see the look on his face so he tries to neutralise it, accepting the paper and scanning over it. He's surprised that he can decode his handwriting better than the typed font of the passages, although he's not sure whether her handwriting is challenging because it's so swirly or because his eyes make it fuzzy. He notices quite a few ticks though so he figures he can't have done  _too_  badly.

"Sebastian?"

Her prompting draws him from focusing on the confusion he feels because he  _can_  read. Maybe that's why he could manage most of Blaine's medical charts, because they were handwritten. He finds himself wondering if the year he'd excelled at school when Lillian was sick had featured texts with large print and spaced words. They probably did.

"Sorry, did you ask something?"

"No, I…" She presses her lips together and gets him to place the paper on her table. She points to a section of the typed paragraphs he'd had to read earlier. "Can you read this for me?"

It reminds him of Clarington trying to make him read his Geometry textbook yesterday, how he'd forced into doing something that he hadn't wanted to do. It makes him incredibly defensive as he leans back and folds his arms over his chest. He doesn't want to look like a fool and he doesn't need any nosey teacher to start poking around in his life story. "What is this?"

"Literature, last I checked," Mrs Fincher says with a bright smile that, unfortunately, chips at his resolve. She reminds him a little of Blaine with her ridiculous optimism. "Just a few sentences are fine."

He sighs and leans forward, figuring that it's far more bearable to read a few sentences than the whole damn page again. His fingers press to the paper, pinning the floating words down and reading as slowly as he can to avoid making mistakes. He knows she's watching him and it makes his skin crawl, his fingers wobbling against the page as he gets increasingly self-conscious.

"Okay, I'll put you out of your misery and let you stop." Her hand touches the back of his arm and he stops and folds them together across his chest again. She gazes at him with interest and Sebastian struggles with not picking up his bag and running away. "Do you prefer silent reading or reading aloud?"

He frowns, wondering why it matters. She's clearly intelligent and fishing for answers he's far from willing to give. Maybe James has put her up to this. Maybe all his teachers are watching him closer this week.

"I don't like either," he says shortly, turning his attention away from her. If he reads aloud, it's slow and jumbled and he sounds stupid. If he reads in his head, he can't concentrate properly.

"Ah. So you're one of my boys who hate reading?" Her blue eyes twinkle as she takes the paper back and returns it to her pile of the others from the class. He's still uncomfortable about the amount of green comments.

He has to admit that she's good at the guilt trip, getting him to explain himself because he doesn't like the assumptions she makes. "No, it's… I can't concentrate properly if it's in my head," he says, biting his lip in a habit he thinks he's picking up from Blaine, "but reading aloud… I know I'm slow and I don't want it to seem like I'm stupid."

"I read through your creative piece, Sebastian."

His stomach flips, panic surging through his bloodstream and making his heartbeat quicken. So she  _had_  read it. He hopes it wasn't so bad that she failed him. He's only been here a week. Can they expel him already for terrible grades? What would happen if they expelled him and his parents didn't want to deal with him? Where would he go? Would he have to-

"Judging from that, I don't think you're stupid at all. You have a wonderful way with words."

…oh.

He looks up at her with wide eyes but lacks any words to speak. He can't remember the last time his school work was praised by anyone. A huge part of that was probably his frequent non-attendance and complete disengagement from public school. It had been easy to slip between the cracks when he wasn't sure any of the teachers really cared about his education. They probably just wanted the latest gossip update on his sister to pass around.

"I've heard you've had some interruptions to your schooling, although no firm details," she adds quickly when he immediately feels the need to storm into the principal's office and smash his face in for betraying his trust. He didn't want all his teachers pitying him for Lillian's sickness the way that his previous schools had done. He could always tell when someone knew what was going on and cut him some slack. He hates being the charity case, the person voted least likely to succeed simply because he's always got something more important occupying his attention. He doesn't want to be the target of the teachers'  _here_  too until it trickles to the students that there's something really wrong with him.

"I'd like to arrange for your eyes to get tested and then we'll review everything, okay?"

Like that list of questions he had for Blaine that he'll never ask, he has one for people at Dalton – why are they so goddamn  _nice_?

Sure, the boys are snobby and pretentious – he's overheard more than enough conversations already of upperclassmen who talk like they've never heard the word 'no' in their life – but he has to admit that there are people who keep trying to ask him stuff and help him and he's completely unused to it. His parents haven't gone out of their way in years. His friends from middle school had drifted away and then dropped him by the time they reached high school. The weird friendliness of Dalton baffles him and leaves him wary of all of their motives.

He sighs, some of his ability to keep shooting these people down wilting when they keep trying. "Okay," he says with a shrug. He's not entirely sure what she's suggesting but he's already been considering the issues with his eyes since Clarington had talked about it last night and he's glad a teacher had picked up on it quickly and will sort something out because he hadn't had the faintest idea of who to talk to. He's pretty sure if he'd tried to call his mother and say his eyes were doing weird things, she'd either wave it off as a ploy for attention or claim that she was a doctor and there's no way she wouldn't have noticed he couldn't see properly.

"I can avoid asking you to read aloud in class if that would help too, but I'd like you to practice reading in your room."

A small weight is lifted from his shoulders at her words. If he doesn't have to read aloud in front of dozens of boys who could ridicule him for his weaknesses, then it greatly reduces the anxiety of even having to wait for his name to be called with the clear expectation that he'll answer. He's not sure if he's taking longer to understand the content because he's so behind or because of his reading problems – eyesight or not – but he spent most of last week terrified that he'd get asked a question about something he hadn't completed yet and look like a fool. Not to mention the amount of things which distract him, dragging his attention away from the task at hand. Josh's restlessness is a problem he's going to have to spend time trying to tune out.

"If there's anything you feel I can do to help you out as you make the transition to Dalton, will you let me know?"

He thinks about James wanting him to find a mentor. He might not ask Fincher right now, maybe he won't ever ask her because he's not sold on the idea of even  _having_  a mentor, but he does notice that she checks to see  _what_  hewants rather than making decisions for him and then asking if it's okay. He likes that. He likes having the opportunity to say yes or no.

"I don't know what there might be…" He fiddles with a button on his blazer and raises one shoulder in a shrug, feeling uncomfortable and wanting to get away.

"You're an intelligent boy. I'm sure you'll come up with many things once you get settled," Fincher says with a smile, folding her hands together on top of the table. "Off you go to lunch. Thank you for your time, Sebastian."

He tilts his head in acknowledgement, picks up his bag, and hurries off to lunch. He has absolutely no idea what just happened but he hopes there's no more pop quizzes for the day.

* * *

He struggles through until Thursday, receiving a number of quizzes with terrible grades from teachers who say his results are fine considering he "didn't really have an opportunity to learn the content anyway". It makes him wonder why they gave him the test in the first place. In the quiet safety of his room, he tries to make sense of the corrections but being told what he  _should_  have written when he's not familiar with the subjects makes everything more confusing and he frequently just gives up with a frustrated huff.

On Thursday, a student comes to the door of his French class with a folded piece of paper with his name on it. He's led to a small office with a man he's never seen before unpacking a briefcase and fiddling with a computer. It turns out he's some sort of eye specialist that the school gets in from time to time and he wants to examine Sebastian's vision. He knows the ophthalmologists at the hospital and he remembers a visit to an optometrist when he was younger, but otherwise he has no idea what he's in for.

He wishes he had.

Over the course of the next hour, the optometrist runs through a variety of sight and reading tests. A ridiculous amount of lenses get placed in front of his eyes while he attempts to read sections of words in a range of different typefaces until Sebastian wants to peel his eyeballs from their sockets and crush them into gloopy messes on the table because they'd probably be more useful to him. He wishes he could scream at the guy.

"Thank you for being so patient today, Sebastian," Doctor Adams says as he begins packing away the assorted equipment before he pulls up a seat opposite Sebastian at the desk. "Would you like to hear my professional opinion?"

There's an incredibly sarcastic ' _No, of course not, I've just let you play with my eyes for fun_ ' that makes his tongue twitch against his teeth. He quickly bites down on it and nods politely instead.

"Right then." Doctor Adams links his hands together on top of the table and leans forward. Sebastian's ascertained that he's a rather no-nonsense fellow, someone who Sebastian thinks might have had a steel rod implanted to replace his spine given with how stiffly he's moved around during the course of the tests. "I think there's a dual issue here. One is what we would call hyperopia, or farsightedness. It means you can see the whiteboard clearly but reading is a bit fuzzy. Does that sound familiar?"

He nods and scrunches his eyes shut for a moment because they're  _still_  watering from all those lenses.

"Alright. My second assessment is that there is an underlying difficulty with reading, which I think you already know."

Well  _duh_. Sebastian doesn't need a degree in eyes to know  _that_.

"It's interesting that you find handwriting easier to read than words which are typed. I think it could be of great benefit to you if I pass along this information to your teachers as they can make adjustments to your classwork while your glasses are organsied."

Doctor Adams pauses and tilts his head, probably because Sebastian's scowling at the idea of his teachers knowing things again. First his sister, now the fact he can't read? They'll have a field day with all this gossip and he hates it. His skin prickles with the realisation that his fresh start has already spun out of his control.

"I'll only share it if you're comfortable, but it's nothing to be ashamed of and now that you know, it would only increase your ability to achieve."

Sebastian hate hate  _hates_  that anything will get passed along, but Adams plays the guilt trip card like Fincher. He brings up the possibility of improving and he supposes that's important because he doesn't want to fail if something can be done. He's forced to concede that if it makes school more bearable than it's been the past couple of weeks, then maybe he has to take the offer. He'd be a fool not to if the alternative is to repeatedly fail freshman year.

Doctor Adams gives him a web address which apparently will offer dozens of frames he can choose for his new glasses. It's not as good as if he had the chance to take them on and off, to see what suited his face, but Sebastian supposes it's one of the many prices he has to pay for being a student at Dalton rather than living freely at home and visiting an optometrist store.

* * *

At breakfast on Friday, he gets issued with a new schedule. It's removed French and British History and he now has Photography and Art. He's not entirely sure why the change has been made because he hadn't been asked about it, but he's not sorry to see the loss of a language that made such little sense. Perhaps this 'underlying reading difficulty' would make French too hard for him right now and he can't find it in him to be particularly disappointed.

Besides, anyone and everyone can take photos and draw, right?

* * *

> _From: Unknown_
> 
> _I bribed Therese into letting me know that your sister is still in the PICU. No change, but that it's better than a decline. You're welcome!  
>  \- B_

The message is waiting for him at the end of his last class and he thinks it's probably worth the price of enduring Biology for the past hour. Nothing had made sense when he'd tried reading from the textbook so instead he'd let his lab partner, Simon, take the lead on the experiment of dissecting the frog. He couldn't have held the scalpel steady anyway and it would have meant they butchered the frog for no scientific gain.

Although he feels rather nauseous at knowing what now lay inside a frog.

He's not sure he has it in him to go into surgery but he's not sure his mother will be disappointed. He's not sure the levels go that high.

He ducks his head as boys move in a hundred different directions after the last bell of the day, pushing through the crowds as they push back until he finally tumbles into his room. Clarington is, blessedly, not around. Sebastian's not sure if he has something on or not but for now, all that matters is the room is  _his_.

He takes out his phone and immediately hits the dial button, waiting anxiously until it gets answered on the third ring.

"You got my message?"

"No, I just magically knew which number to call," he says, his smile barely contained as he tosses his bag under his desk, throws his blazer over the chair, loosens his tie, and basically  _hurls_  himself at the bed. It's always good to hear Blaine's voice but now that he knows he has the other boy's mobile number, it opens up new possibilities for their communication.

"My, my. You  _are_  turning out to have a lot of special talents," Blaine teases and Sebastian laughs as he makes himself comfortable on the bed.

"You have  _no_  idea," he replies, before realising the possible sexual connotations of what he said. Apparently Blaine picks up on it too if his flabbergasted choking sound is anything to go by. He tucks his arm beneath his head and tries to rein in the grin spreading across his face. "So you bribed Therese, huh?"

"Yeah. I promised her I'd start sitting up on the edge of the bed and allowing the blood to properly circulate to my feet and stuff before they start trying to get me to walk." Blaine doesn't sound pleased with the deal he made which makes Sebastian grimace. He can't imagine how hard it's going to be to recover from the injuries Blaine sustained. It will probably be incredible if he manages to properly walk without a pronounced limp.

"Well… Thanks," he says honestly, because it's the first piece of news he's had about Lillian since he got delivered to Dalton's hallowed doors two weeks ago. He'd considered messaging his parents, but he hadn't wanted that to seem like an olive branch to being a good son. He's still too furious with them for that.

"Don't mention it. How's Dalton?"

He forgets that it's been more than a week since he really had the opportunity to talk to Blaine, so he details the change to his class from this morning – " _Sounds like those classes should be more fun, although French is a cool language to get the opportunity to learn._ " – and the eye tests yesterday – " _You'll probably look like a hot hipster with glasses and all the girls will throw themselves at you!"_. He doesn't mention the reading problems nor does he say anything about his poor pop quiz results. He can't shake off the feeling of being too stupid for this school, surrounded by boys who all seem so effortlessly composed and capable.

"Have you made friends yet?"

He hasn't spoken to Montgomery all week because he's unsure of where, exactly, that…acquaintanceship lies. Clarington has offered him some help with his work though, reading aloud passages of their American History textbook for them both to take notes from as well as explaining more of the Geometry foundations he doesn't have. He wouldn't go as far to say they're  _friends_ , but they're at least civil as they negotiate completing work together.

"Not really."

"Sebastiaaaaaaan!" Blaine whines and it tugs at his heart when he remembers Lillian sounding like that once. She was about five and he wouldn't give her a lick of his chocolate ice-cream as they walked home from chasing down the ice-cream truck. He'd told her she wouldn't like her lemon ice lolly and he'd been right, so then she'd spent the walk home drawing out the vowels in his name in an effort to swap ice-creams.

And giggling like the little charmer that she was when he'd given in.

"I have a lot to be dealing with right now. Friends aren't very high on my priority list."

"Yeah, but-" Sebastian can almost  _hear_  the pout he suspects is on Blaine's face, "I'm going to be moving to the rehab ward soon and complaining more. I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to me when I turn into a big baby and you don't have anyone else."

It's sweet, in an odd sort of way, that Blaine thinks he needs friends because the other boy is about to have to use his left limbs for the first time in months. He's pretty sure he could handle any and all of Blaine's complaining without feeling bad or noticing the absence of any friends.

"I've never been huge on the whole 'friends' thing, Killer. Not having anyone to talk to never bothered me before."

"Because you got drunk and high when you couldn't cope?"

"Shut up."

The warmth he'd felt towards Blaine's endearing level of care for his wellbeing had been tempered by Blaine's painfully astute observation. Blaine laughs breathily because he knows he's right and Sebastian lets his eyes close to listen to it. He won't admit how close Blaine is to being right. Instead, he tries to imagine Blaine in the hospital bed after two weeks of healing and growing stronger, wondering what he'd look like without his arm and leg in bulky plaster.

"I miss seeing you and Lillian," he admits quietly, wondering if that's a really weird thing to say. He doesn't want to encourage any sort of crush for Blaine, but he  _does_  miss seeing him as well as his sister. His feelings towards the boy are a mess. His grasp of whether he's gay because he's hooked up with guys is beyond him. Can two gay guys  _be_  'just friends' or is it like the idea that a straight guy and girl can't  _just_  be friends?

He's pretty sure he can hear Blaine's smile over the phone though as he speaks though, so he decides maybe his confession is worth it. "I'm sure Lillian misses seeing you as much as I do, Seb."

A faint smile returns to his face as the warmth flickers alive again, which is around the time that Clarington finally enters the room. They exchange a nod of acknowledgment as his roommate crosses the room, places his bag on the floor, takes off the outer layers of his uniform followed by his shoes. He idly watches Clarington begin unpacking his bag.

"Hey, what are you doing about school?" Sebastian says suddenly when he sees Clarington aligning the edge of his books with the corner of the table like he always does on Fridays, preparing himself for the early morning Saturday Study ritual. His roommate is seriously  _weird_.

Blaine sighs and Sebastian almost feels bad for asking. "My teachers put together a little study kit thing for me to do while I'm recovering, but my rehab guru told me I probably won't get back to school until the fall," Blaine admits, sounding quiet and sad. "My parents have said I wouldn't go back anyway because it's 'too dangerous'."

"You can't blame them for  _that_ , though," Sebastian points out. He's pretty sure if Blaine's parents had permitted his return to middle school after the injuries the boy had suffered, he'd go around with his own baseball bat and break their arms and legs to see how they coped with returning to the sight of their attack.

"I told them for  _months_  before the attack about getting pushed around, Seb. They never cared then." Blaine sounds so tired, almost disappointed in his parents. It's a tone Sebastian recognises as one he's used before. The distance of Blaine's parents from a very real problem is one he's familiar with too.

"Oh," he says dumbly. He doesn't know how to use his words to react. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's just… Fall seems a long time away so it's hard to… I guess the road to recovery is just longer than I'd thought," Blaine says, his voice fading away as he stumbles through his explanation. He feels so bad for Blaine that he's determined to try to turn the conversation around.

"Who knew it would take you so long to learn how to use your bionic limbs properly?" he muses and is delighted when Blaine giggles. Clarington looks over his shoulder with a puzzled expression. He supposes the conversation probably  _does_  sound strange if you're only hearing one side of it.

"You're a jerk, Seb," Blaine says with no malice in his tone. It sounds almost …fond. Sebastian's not sure he's ever heard someone sound so warm towards him, especially when they're issuing an insult.

"Yet you sent me a text so I have your number, which means you're planning on putting up with me." He pauses and listens to Blaine's breathy giggle. "Does that make you exceptionally generous or a fool?"

"I'm possibly both," Blaine replies, and Sebastian can imagine the thoughtful expression on the boy's face when he says it.

"Then you're both. You're welcome."

Blaine laughs again and it makes Sebastian smile to hear it, his insides turning fuzzy and warm. He can already guess there will be months of rehabilitation and physical therapy ahead of Blaine. Having an enormous cloud of uncertainty over his schooling future can't be helpful. What happened if Blaine failed to complete his last semester of middle school? Or would his parents ensure he still becomes a freshman at…a school somewhere? Where will Blaine attend in the fall? The range of questions he starts contemplating have surely run through Blaine's mind too yet he's sounding pretty strong and positive about everything. He's capable of teasing and being teased to the point of laughing. Sebastian's not sure he'd be the same if he had such injuries under such circumstances. He's certainly not feeling very positive at the moment and he doesn't face anything nearly that uncertain.

"Send me a photo when you get the glasses?" Blaine asks, a hint of uncertainty in his voice which Sebastian doesn't understand but can't help prodding at.

He grins. "I'll send you a handkerchief for the drool on your chin too."

Blaine squawks and mutters a clearly embarrassed goodbye before the line goes dead. It's an abrupt, odd reaction that Sebastian will have to think about later.

"Who the hell was that?" Clarington says as soon as Sebastian puts the phone on his bedside table. His roommate is clearly scrutinising him and Sebastian wonders if there's a flashing sign on his head that makes him so interesting.

"None of your business," he says and folds his arms over his chest. He feels like Lillian when she doesn't get her way about trying to push her bedtime later. He doesn't want to seem like a bratty child.

Clarington watches him a moment more before picking up a book and getting comfortable on the bed. "Maybe it's not, but it's also the most animated and happy I've seen you since you got here."

He can still feel the eyes on him and he wonders if Clarington expects that the answer will magically appear if he just  _stares_  long enough.

It won't, though.

Blaine is Sebastian's special secret weapon in fighting the melancholia when he's sober. He's a boy wise beyond is years and filled with his own intricacies and complexities. He's someone that Sebastian is friends with and he doesn't want some asshole like his roommate to get the wrong idea. He has no intention of sharing his friendship with Blaine with anyone, but  _especially_  not Clarington.

"Then don't push your luck so far that I lose the smile," Sebastian says relatively calmly, snatching up his phone to find a game to play. It's a Friday. He has absolutely no intention to do something as academically pompous as  _reading_ , even if it might help him catch up some of his school work.

Clarington rolls his eyes and finally turns his attention to the book in his hands. "I'll get it out of you one day," he murmurs and Sebastian wonders why it matters so much. Does his roommate expect they'll be  _friends_  that share secrets? He knows very little about Clarington and he has zero interest in learning anything. He sees no reason why he should be expected to offer any information of his own. He hasn't forgotten being pushed up against the wall. He doesn't need his fears to be used against him by someone that dangerous and volatile.

"Good luck with that," Sebastian mutters because he knows he'll never part with anything. He taps an application and taps the screen again to begin playing, tilting the phone from side to side to steer the racing car around a corner.

A tense silence settles between them.

* * *

_**~TBC~** _


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
 **Word Count:** 5,661  
Summary: Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. **  
** **Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
 **Warnings/Spoilers:**  None in particular for this chapter.

* * *

Sebastian begrudgingly accepts Clarington's help with the never-ending pile of homework over the weekend because he's fairly sure that if he doesn't, he's going to get kicked out for being a monumental academic failure. Sometimes he feels something he supposes is guilt, because he's so slow and requires Clarington to explain and re-explain the information on the page several times before he starts to get it, but Clarington – for all his self-satisfied smugness as he points out things in their textbooks – insists that it's the same content he needs to learn anyway and teaching it is helping him gain a better understanding.

With enough help, he successfully completes the homework he has for Geometry, American History and Biology and feels better prepared for any quizzes that those teachers might want to hit him with on Monday. Blaine texts him over the weekend with random anecdotes about his day from the hospital bed, such as the terrible food that consists of a lot of pureed vegetables or lack of cable so he's reduced to relying on tacky shows that the masses watch, that help Sebastian feel some semblance of normality, feel some semblance of a connection to someone beyond the Dalton walls that has demons of his own. His fingers trace over the letters until they form words he understands and painstakingly types out responses.

Late at night, when he stares at the ceiling and listens to Clarington's snuffling snores, he wonders why his parents haven't messaged him about Lillian's progress, or lack thereof.

His glasses arrive on Wednesday and he snaps a photo to send to Blaine. Having the glasses helps reduce the furriness around the edge of words although the letters still swim around the page and he sits anxiously in classes, constantly worried a teacher might call on him for an answer or to read a paragraph from the textbook. Mrs Fincher has told him to return at the end of each day for additional help in reading but he refuses to concede he needs it. Even if the glasses help, he feels foolish wearing them.

And that's not even a fraction of how he feels because he can't  _read_  properly.

A routine gradually develops as the days blend into weeks, where Clarington helps him with aspects of his homework and teachers give him some extra time to get it done without actually asking him if he wants it. He realises that the rare times he's called on in class aren't anything that might embarrass him and his difficulty and he starts to wonder if they collude to talk about him as much as he suspects. He thinks they probably all know about his inability and are committed to either leaving him out of discussions about something related to the readings or they're attempting to reduce his nervousness about turning up to class. He's not sure which option he'd prefer.

After Blaine is moved to the rehab unit during the first week of February, his phone goes through days of silence. He types texts out with a Herculean effort but they all go unanswered. It makes him wonder if he can convince James to get some weekend leave to visit the boy and his sister, if he can attempt to offer them both some support and encouragement. When Blaine finally  _does_  call, his sentences are short as he explains he's tired and weak, too exhausted to talk for long. Sebastian can't help but notice that his voice is softer and sadder than he's ever heard before. It increases his determination to visit Blaine, but he fears he hasn't done anything to earn any of the privileges that would enable him to go.

* * *

By the third weekend in February, Sebastian has noticed such a marked decline in the enthusiasm or hope in Blaine's calls and texts that he knows he no longer has any choice but to go to James' office and try to negotiate his way out of school for a few hours on Saturday. His sole focus has become Blaine, with Lillian a close second. He knows she's still in the PICU and he's starting to think – in the dead of night when he can't sleep – that she might never leave.

James seems almost suspiciously jovial as he reviews Sebastian's academic progress and attendance record. He's managed to go to all his classes but his marks remain low, mostly because he's still having problems with reading. The glasses have helped, having Clarington as some sort of….study buddy has helped, but his work is riddled with errors that he's pretty sure some of his teachers take a perverse pleasure in pointing out to him with red or green ink splashed across his books and papers.

"So tell me, Sebastian. Why is it you wish to leave this weekend?" James asks, his hands falling away from the laptop that holds Sebastian's grades, his history of failed attempts at trying to do better for the sake of Blaine and Lillian.

Sebastian looks down at his hands, the way they twist together and settle in his lap. He knows he can't mention Blaine here. He's not sure what sort of dialogue may exist between the principal and his parents. "My sister is sick and I haven't seen her in six weeks."

"How humanitarian of you," James surmises, bordering almost on sarcasm. It makes the hairs on the back of Sebastian's neck raise, his defensiveness over Lillian ruffled by James' cavalier attitude. The only reason he tamps down on his bitter words is because the man pulls a sheet from one of the many trays on his desk and begins writing on it. "There is a bus which stops outside our gates at eight, nine and ten in the morning on Saturdays. It deposits students on our doorstep at two, three and four in the afternoon. You may catch whichever bus you wish in and out, but ensure you return otherwise I will be forced to call your parents and the police."

Sebastian feels something flurry to life in his belly and his chest as he nods at the information, knowing he wouldn't dare break the rules and suspecting James knows that perfectly well. The last thing he needs is his parents contacted. After the chasm of silence between them since he was dropped off at Dalton, he has no intention to explain to them that he went to visit Lillian and someone else they've never heard of.

He takes the leaving form signed by James with him and calls Blaine on the walk back to his room, his steps lighter than they've been in weeks.

"So hypothetically, if I wanted to get you something to cheer you up, what would your room number be?" he says as innocently as he can, passing a landscape of somewhere in Italy that means he's definitely on the right path to getting back to his room. He still gets lost in the myriad of similar corridors sometimes.

"4803," Blaine answers after a pause laden with suspicious interest. "Why?"

"I already told you why," Sebastian says with a grin, wondering if he might get some flowers to take to Blaine, an attempt at brightening the boy's mood as well as his room. It amuses him how similar Blaine's room number is to his own, but he keeps that to himself. "How are you doing?"

Blaine sighs, the sound wobbling unsteadily and betraying his distress. "My leg is really weak," he mumbles, something Sebastian has heard several times already. He doesn't dare ask Blaine if he'll ever be able to properly walk again on a leg that was so badly broken, but he suspects it's something Blaine might think about a lot and the weight of it has dragged him down.

Sebastian slows in his walk through the corridor, searching for the right thing to say when he tended to be awful at helping anyone. "Then you just need to keep trying to build up the strength, right? You had a lot of months not using it. It's to be expected."

"Yeah, but… I feel like a child learning to walk all over again," Blaine admits, his voice soft enough over the line that Sebastian thinks might be because he's ashamed to admit his weakness the same way that Sebastian won't admit he's struggling to read.

Undeterred, Sebastian tries to find a way to lighten the sadness in Blaine's tone. "Well then, just imagine how great you'll be at walking after learning  _twice_!"

When Blaine stays silent instead of offering a quiet laugh like he'd hoped, he's struck with gratitude that James permitted him to visit his sister and, unknowingly, Blaine. The boy on the phone is nothing like the positive person he'd last seen in early January.

Clarington is in their room when he opens the door. He's forced to end the call because his roommate is so incredibly nosy about whom he speaks to so often. Concern blooms in his belly at Blaine's barely audible farewell. He almost decides to tell Blaine he's coming rather than surprise him, but the call ends before he gets the chance.

"Your mystery person again?" Clarington says, looking up from reading his British History textbook with an amused expression. Sebastian really,  _really_  wants to point out that it's a Friday afternoon and his roommate should take some time off from studying, but that might sound like he cares and he'd never want  _that_  to happen.

"It can be whoever you want it to be," Sebastian says without the faintest care in the world, discarding his blazer over the back of his desk chair and searching for fresh clothes to change into. He still craves the comforting warmth of his hoodies and jerseys to the constriction of a uniform that reminds him of all he's lost.

"Which means yes."

Sebastian shrugs and picks out a pair of jeans, t-shirt and jersey to wear when he visits Lillian and Blaine the next day. There's not much which his roommate could say that would dampen his mood right now.

* * *

His sleep is as restless as always while he spends hours lying awake, except this time he's imagining a thousand different scenarios of what he'll say to Lillian and Blaine when he sees them. His alarm beeping is almost a relief, even though Clarington groans something about how  _it's a Saturday_  and  _could he_   _please shut the fucking thing off_?

He'd already decided to make the most of his day escaping the school. It means he's the only boy on the 8am bus into Westerville, but he fails to see that as a bad thing. He unexpectedly discovers a benefit to being a local boy – he knows without asking exactly where to go so he can transfer buses to the route that takes him to the hospital. By 8.35, he's outside the hospital doors.

Around two this morning, he thought it best to visit Lillian first, just in case his parents stopped by later. He also figured she would be in a drug-induced haze from night-time sedation whereas in a few hours, Blaine would be more alert and grateful for his company – or so he hoped – for the extended period of time he could stay.

He spies a few nurses and doctors that he recognises and who he knows recognise him. He wonders if they'll scurry off to call his mom and report that  _he's here_  and  _isn't he meant to be at boarding school now_  and  _should they call security to escort him from the premises_?

He's so early that the PICU is empty of visitors lingering in the corridors of sick children. It makes it easy to get into Lillian's room and shut the door behind him. He feels furtive, like it's a covert mission he can't afford to be caught carrying out, but he knows he can't afford to get caught. His parents could get here within half an hour and pitch a fit.

The room is dim except for a thin strip of sunlight illuminating a section of linoleum and casting light and shadow over his sister's face. He can't tell if it's a trick of the light that makes her look paler than he remembers, more sallow and small and frail. His heart quivers as quick as a hummingbird's wings as he approaches her, brushing his fingertips through her hair before kissing her forehead gently.

"Sebby?"

He draws away, startled at being caught. When he looks into green eyes that look vague and dulled, his eyes water as he hopes it's because of the medication. He slips his fingers between hers and offers her the best smile he can when he can already feel his emotions crumbling into dust.

"Hey, kiddo," he murmurs, tracing the prominent curve of her cheekbone gently with his index finger. She smells like antiseptic and illness, and yet there's still something faintly sweet about her scent that he knows is solely  _Lillian_.

"I've missed you," she whispers, her tiny hand raising his to her chest. He can feel her heart beating and it's hard not to break down in tears because he wonders how much it struggles to keep beating every day while he struggles to abide by rules he never wanted to come down on him.

"More or less than how much I've missed you?" he says, shifting her over so he can wriggle in beside her and let her head rest against his shoulder.

She rolls her eyes and everything about it reminds him of himself. He hadn't expected her to have picked up on so many of his mannerisms after years slipping in and out of alertness. "More.  _Duh_."

He chokes on a wet laugh, his fingers carding through her hair and cradling her jaw. Her gaze is still blurred but there's a faint smile curling her pale pink lips. He can't help but marvel at how she's more aware than she was a month ago. He wishes his parents had called to update him on this. It feels like if she can maintain a conversation filled with gentle teasing, she must be getting better.

"Why'd you make mom and dad so upset that they sent you away?" Lillian says suddenly, tilting her head into his hand. His thumb runs around the dark circles that ring her eyes like a raccoon and he wants so badly to get rid of them and make her look healthy and happy. She's too young to look so exhausted and it's a stark reminder that she remains terribly ill.

He cuddles her gently, mindful of jostling the range of wires and leads and cords and tubes attached to her tiny body. "Because they knew I could look after myself and wanted to make sure they could focus on taking care of you," he lies, hoping it sounds as convincing as he wants it to be. Anyway, maybe it's the truth. He doesn't want his sister knowing the extent of his destructive behaviour.

Lillian smiles at him sadly, as if she can see straight through his thin façade. "Don't you wish you could be here more?"

Something twists in his chest, painful and raw, and it sinks into his stomach with an uncomfortably heavy coldness. "Every day."

He leans down to kiss the top of her head, hoping to comfort her, but her sad smile stays in place as she scrutinises him. She's wise for an eleven year old, wiser than some of the boys he goes to school with. It's this aspect of his sister, the one that's his best friend and the object of so much of his affection who sees him for who he truly is, that he misses the most. He misses having someone to confide his secrets to that will still cuddle him at the end of it. She's someone that he's folded into his bed so many times, holding her tiny body in his arms after a nightmare that left her trembling with weak sobs. She's someone that he's encouraged to eat another spoonful of food in the hopes that it will keep her strength up to fight another day. It's why, even as she steals all the attention from his parents, he can't hate her.

"Promise me something?" she says, squeezing his hand against her own and drawing him away from his reverie. He looks at her with a raised eyebrow, wondering what on earth he's meant to promise an eleven year old. "Don't be a bitter teenage boy because of me."

His eyes widen in surprise, wondering where she learned those sorts of words. It sounds like something his parents might have said and he tries not to think that maybe she'd overheard them discussing him in such terms as she'd lapsed in and out. "I'm not  _bitter_."

"Seb, I love you, but I know you hurt too." Her thumb brushes over his knuckles, something he thinks is determination glittering in her tired eyes. "You want to be this brave big brother in front of me but all those feelings have to go  _somewhere_."

He pouts at her. It's not fair than an eleven year old who has missed copious amounts of school is this intelligent and it's being wasted by an illness that ravages her most vital organ. "Stop being so smart," he complains mildly.

She giggles and cuddles into his side with a fond smile. "Love you, dummy."

His heart swells at her words, something he hadn't heard in far too long. Getting out of school this weekend was the best thing he could have done because his sister is more lucid than she'd been in months. All his weeks of missing her, all his weeks of worrying about her ailing health, have been erased with her confident tactility, her ability to maintain a conversation. "I love you too, Lils."

He stays with her for nearly an hour, long after she's fallen asleep against his shoulder. It's when the clock nears ten above her doorway that he starts worrying his parents might show up. He  _really_  doesn't want to run into them. Lillian barely stirs as he untangles their hands and bodies, sliding free of the bed and ensuring she's comfortable and tucked in. He whispers a prayer as he kisses her forehead, another prayer in millions of unanswered ones where she gets a heart and survives all this. He'd never be prepared to say goodbye to her.

Therese is on duty and eyeing him from the nurse's desk when he leaves the room. "Why are you here?" she demands, her lips curling into an unpleasant sort of smile that makes him think he's done for.

"Weekend privileges," he says with a shrug and glancing towards Lillian's closed door, shoving his hands into his pockets as he approaches the nurse's station. "I wanted to see Lillian."

"Do your parents know?"

"Nope." He leans against the counter and flashes his best grin. "Can you keep a secret?"

Her eyes narrow at him and he thinks she'll protest. Maybe she's wised up to his flirtatious ways and won't stand for it anymore. Maybe the hospital has his photo circulating so that if he showed up at Lillian's bedside, security would automatically be called to escort him away. Maybe she's stalling him now as they stomp around in the lift while it clatters slowly upwards to the sixth floor.

"You're lucky I've known you since you were born and I've seen how much you love your sister, Sebastian," Therese mutters and waves her hand to shoo him away. His grin widens into something far more honest as he skips towards the elevator to travel to his next destination.

* * *

The door to Blaine's room is open when he arrives outside it with a small bunch of multi-coloured flowers from the gift shop downstairs. He feels awkward holding them, like it borders on being a romantic gesture rather than a friendly one. He'd expressly asked for flowers that were cheerful and for a friend and he'd been presented with a bunch of unfamiliar flowers that are bright yellows and oranges and whites. He doesn't  _think_  they seem too romantic...

Blaine is propped up in bed with a book in his lap and wearing a ridiculously large navy blue hoodie when he enters. He takes a brief moment to admire his profile before he realises that whatever Blaine is reading is so engrossing that it thoroughly holds his attention and Sebastian is forced to clear his throat. He watches the book tumble to the floor with a dull  _thud_ , the pages splayed open by a parted spine.

" _Seb_?" Gold eyes grow wide as they stare at him in astonishment. " _Please_  tell me you aren't a hallucination because I'm totally not ready to go to a psych ward."

"What would I say that a hallucination wouldn't?" he says calmly, placing the flowers on the window ledge and offering a smile to the boy that is making grabby hands at him.

"No idea. Now come here!"

He chuckles as Blaine twists on the bed with his arms impatiently spread. The sheet slips from his lap and Sebastian notices he's wearing shorts and the expanse of skin beneath them has a left leg surrounded by a metal brace. He can see a scar on the outside, running the length of his leg, which he may get an opportunity to examine later. Even with the brace, it's impossible to miss how much smaller it looks compared to his healthier, unbroken leg.

For now, he steps close enough to the boy that he can drape his arms around Blaine's shoulders and he feels the weight of Blaine's arms around his waist and what he suspects is the jut of a brace around his left arm against his back.

"You're  _here_ ," Blaine breathes in amazement and Sebastian realises Blaine's hands are shaking as they fist into the back of his jersey.

"Surprise?"

" _God_  yes." Blaine mutters, clinging tighter and pressing his face against Sebastian's shirt. "I've wanted to do this for months."

He lowers his head to rest against Blaine's hair, flattening curls beneath his cheek as his fingers rub gentle circles into the back of Blaine's neck. He can feel the other boy unwinding, the strong grip against his clothes beginning to loosen as he relaxes. He wonders when Blaine last had any sort of comfort or care or affection.

Blaine lets go after several long minutes of holding on, wiping at his cheeks and eyes which Sebastian deigns not to acknowledge. Blaine pats the space beside him and he settles on the edge, his legs dangling over the side, his toes brushing against the floor.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" Blaine asks, looping his arm through Sebastian's and leaning into his bicep. It's strangely intimate but he finds he doesn't really mind.

"I was hoping it would make you happier if you didn't already know," he says, tracing his fingers lightly over Blaine's arm as the boy holds onto him.

"Well… Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He noses at Blaine's hair, the softest of kisses getting nestled among his curls like he does with bestowing affection on Lillian. They sit together like that for a while, gazing towards the window even though the blinds are only partially open. He doesn't want to question why he feels so content with Blaine, why everything that has made him antsy for weeks has slowed and fallen silent. It's the sort of peace he longed for late at night, when Clarington was snoring softly and Sebastian was filled with regret that he hadn't smuggled in a few bottles or joints to take it all away.

Blaine eventually has to lay down, his weakened muscles still gaining strength after so many months spent reclining and unable to move. Sebastian distantly wonders if Lillian will have to go through a rehab program to gain back her own muscles. It suggests she'll be healthy enough to one day leave the PICU and it remains too unlikely to fully consider, so he pushes it away.

"How's Lilian?" Blaine says when he's settled against Sebastian's shoulder, similar to his sister earlier. Their fingers thread together around Blaine's brace and he breathes calmly and deeply, free of his worries for the first time in ages.

So he tells the boy about his sister, then details what Dalton is like and the slow improvement in his grades as a result of a lot of patient guidance from Clarington. He rattles off stories about the food being better than what his mother could do and he mentions Mrs Fincher's unusual teaching methods (probably for him to still do the work) and his surprise that no one had commented on his glasses. He neglects to mention any details about his limited reading abilities or the mentor he's yet to secure. He doesn't say that he lacks friends or memberships to any of the school clubs.

Blaine listens and prompts him occasionally with questions, requesting more details for something Sebastian had skimmed over. He realises how relaxed he is as Blaine's hand stays held in his own and watches the honey-coloured eyes gain life and sparkle again. When he's all out of his own recollections to share, he encourages Blaine to talk about the progress he's making in the rehab program. He can tell Blaine's left hand is smaller beneath the brace and suspects the rest of his arm is similar to his leg. Blaine is clearly frustrated as he vents about his minimal progress despite his best – and most stubborn – efforts, shifting his braced leg as he explains how uncomfortable and painful it is to wear something so restrictive.

"You'll get there," Sebastian assures, squeezing Blaine's hand and rubbing his thumb against the knuckles. "And then you'll wonder why you struggled so much."

Blaine offers an unhappy smile. Sebastian presses his lips together in disappointment because he knows he's crappy at offering comfort. Instead, he decides to swap the hand that holds Blaine's so he can wrap his arm beneath Blaine's head to hold him closer. Something crinkles across the boy's brow before he exhales and the expression fades.

"I still can't believe you're here," Blaine murmurs, his nose pressing into Sebastian's shoulder as his eyes slowly close. He wonders if Blaine feels as content as him. He can't help observing the length of the eyelashes that curve against his cheek.

"It had been too long."

Blaine hums in agreement, low and sleepy. Sebastian watches his breathing start to lengthen and deepen and he wonders if Blaine has still been having nightmares that are wearing his sanity thin and whether that's contributing to his low mood. He doesn't know much about psychology but maybe Blaine has that condition people develop after they experience something too horrific to cope with. He doesn't want to try imagining what it must have been like for Blaine to be beat up so badly. He's never asked for any details. He's not sure he wants to.

He finds the remote for the TV hanging from the rail of the bed and turns it on with the volume so low he can barely hear a thing. He wants Blaine to get as much peaceful rest as possible and he no intention to leave Blaine until he absolutely has to. He suspects Blaine doesn't get visitors nearly as much as Lillian and it makes him wish he could visit more. It's easier to blame his parents for locking him up in a boarding school where he's restricted from trying to help those he truly cares about than to think about his own poor behaviour that had led to his abandonment.

A little before 1.30, an hour after an orderly had slipped in with a tray of sandwiches and red Jell-O and orange juice, Blaine stirs awake. His eyes blink several times as he tries to focus and the smile he offers Sebastian when his gaze finally focuses nearly makes his breathing stop.

"You're still here," Blaine whispers. He sounds so surprised that it pains Sebastian to think that Blaine's parents might sneak out when he falls asleep.

"I'll have to go soon, but I thought you deserved some rest," he replies, adjusting his arm because the tips of his fingers are numb and he'd worried that moving it would jostle Blaine awake.

Blaine whines rather pitifully, grasping at Sebastian's shirt with an enormous pout. "But I don't  _want_  you to leave!"

"You're clingier than my sister," Sebastian teases, a smile lifting his lips as he ruffles Blaine's curls. The boy scrunches his nose and reaches up to try – pointlessly – to smooth them down.

"When you put it that way, fine.  _Leave_." Blaine huffs with a melodramatic roll of his eyes. Sebastian can't help but grin at the transformation that the other boy has undergone with a couple of hours of sleep and some comforting touch.

"You're sounding better."

Blaine shrugs, his protest against Sebastian's eventual departure wilting as he loosens his grip against Sebastian's shirt. He wonders if Blaine can feel the flipping sensation in his stomach when the boy's palm settles against his belly.

"It gets lonely in here."

He watches Blaine's eyes and the way they drift past him to the window. Maybe it's as close as he'll get to Blaine confirming his parents don't visit very often. He has a feeling if he asked, Blaine would say his parents were too busy to visit often. "Maybe you need to make some friends too?"

"They're all  _old_ ," Blaine complains, wrinkling his nose again and his lower lip jutting out into an adorable pout. "You can't make friends when all the people here are in their eighties and recovering from broken hips."

He fights against the urge to laugh. "Wow, Blaine. I had no idea you were so ageist."

Blaine pokes his chest in a weak reprimand before cuddling close again. "It's nice having you here," he says, the confession sounding shy as it passes his lips.

Sebastian smiles and runs his fingers through Blaine's curls gently, enjoying the way that Blaine seems to melt against his body at the gesture. "You think you'll be okay without me?"

"I'm sure I'll manage to survive somehow," Blaine mumbles, but he's already beginning to sound forlorn and Sebastian really doesn't want to leave him.

Sebastian waits nearly half an hour before he knows he'll have to go to ensure he's on the bus back to Dalton. A good day doesn't need to be marred by a phone call to his parents about him leaving campus and not returning.

Blaine gives him another long, tight hug and Sebastian's not sure who needs it more. He lets the boy hold on and brushes the softest of kisses to Blaine's temple. The hug restores something within him, some of his internal fight and strength perhaps. He can only hope that it encourages Blaine's internal fight and strength to return as well. He really wants to see Blaine walk confidently and use his left arm. He wants to see Blaine smile freely and not be confined by the hospital rooms he keeps being moved to.

He presents Blaine with the flowers just before he leaves. Blaine's fingertips brush over the petals hesitantly and he gets another smile that makes his heart flutter in his chest. He doesn't want to try understanding it too much. He's not sure he'll like the answer.

* * *

He's fairly sure he's walking on clouds as he weaves through corridors towards his room. He's not even the slightest bit surprised when he sees Clarington at his desk, hunched over an exercise book with a highlighter in hand. He can't help the faint smirk that crosses his lips when he sees the smudge of green across Clarington's cheek.

"Hey. I wondered where you'd gone," Clarington greets when he glances up, his eyebrows drawing together as he assesses Sebastian taking off his coat and scarf and returning them to his small wardrobe.

"I was out," he says simply, a bit of a dumb smile on his face as he sits on his bed and begins to untie his shoelaces. He can still feel the press of Blaine and Lillian's hands in his, offering him comfort hours later.

"Out? Like, off-campus?"

He nods. The lack of further questioning prompts him to look over at Clarington, who has an eyebrow raised almost as high as his hairline.

"You look like you got some," Clarington observes, his eyes scanning Sebastian's face.

A laugh bubbles out of him before he can stop it and he shakes his head with amusement, depositing his shoes by his desk. "I'm not in a relationship, dude."

Clarington is still watching him. "You don't have to be in a relationship to screw someone."

He recalls the sophomore boys at public school and wonders how they're functioning without his dick to blow. It's definitely been a while and his right hand in the shower doesn't feel so good anymore. His awareness of sharing the space with a roommate probably has something to do with it.

"Why are you so interested?" he asks casually, placing his phone on the bedside table and staring at Clarington. "Wondering what a piece of male ass feels like?"

"I am not even  _remotely_  bicurious," Clarington snaps, but there's something in the flash of his eyes that makes Sebastian wonder if he can get beneath the boy's skin and they can renegotiate the terms of their living arrangements.

"Whatever you say," he says airily, waving his hand dismissively and settling down on his bed to try to get a nap in before dinner. He shuts his eyes but his mind is still ticking over. He needs to start sizing up some of these boys to see who might be interested in offering a quickie on the down-low. Clarington's planted a seed that might just blossom into a hunger he'd forgotten about.

* * *

**_~TBC~_ **


	9. Chapter 9

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
 **Word Count:** 5,311  
 **Summary:**  Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. **  
** **Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
 **Warnings/Spoilers:**  None in particular for this chapter.

* * *

Sebastian spends a week observing those around him with a scrutiny he hadn't previously used. He becomes almost obsessed with scoping out possible boys who might be interested in fooling around, although the most important factor in deciding their pursuable worthiness is whether they seem capable of keeping their mouths shut afterwards.

By the end of the week, he's got a few people on a rough list that he dare not write down in case Clarington finds it. He begins suspecting a freshman a few doors down except he doesn't think he's come out yet. He's on the small side and so baby-faced that he looks like he's a prepubescent twelve year old. Sebastian's not sure he'd get hard even if the boy was the best lay ever, purely based on feeling like he'd be screwing a kid. There's a sophomore he notices in the rush to Chemistry that he begins watching closer. It's not hard to tell that the boy is so alarmingly gay that he may as well toss rainbows and glitter at anyone who passes. The thought leaves Sebastian with a wrinkled nose, because he's fairly certain that any association with  _that_  will be as good as coming out. The navigation to understanding – or accepting – his sexuality is still far from taking place.

It surprises him what he sees once he starts looking, yet he's not sure how interested he is in any of them. He's not sure if it's because one seems too shy to express himself while the other is ridiculously over the top, or because they're private school boys with more money than sense, or because maybe he isn't, in fact, gay. He compares them to the two sophomores from Westerville High he'd hooked up with and he's no longer certain whether he had feelings for those boys or not. He can barely even remember their faces.

Occasionally, he allows himself to compare the boys he's noticed with Blaine.

The boy in question has perked up considerably in his latest text messages and phone calls, detailing his improved recovery to Sebastian. He's proud of Blaine – why wouldn't he be? – but he starts realising he's miserable and isolated from those he truly cares about. Hearing about Blaine taking tentative steps forward makes him want to  _see_ Blaine using the rails to support himself while he builds strength in his weak left leg. Hearing about Blaine improving the fine motor skills of his left hand makes him want to  _see_  Blaine picking up cups and balls.

He isn't just miserable and isolated though. He's increasingly horny and unsatisfied, the case in point when he wakes up with his hand down his pants three times during the week. It's like his dick  _knows_  his interest in sex has returned and his hand is interested in coaxing him to remember just in case he forgets again. Thankfully it was still dark when he woke and he could hear Clarington snuffling quietly in his sleep. He'd struggled with willing his erection into wilting and jerking himself off to at least gain some brief satisfaction.

He's definitely starting to feel the urge to have someone else's hands on him though, which leads him to looking up gay clubs in Ohio on his phone late one night when he's certain Clarington is immersed in a book. It takes him an agonisingly long time with his shitty reading abilities to piece together that there's a club a couple of hours away in West Lima, which turns out to be pretty pointless since he lacks a car as well as the permission required to leave at night. He closes the search page with a huff of frustration and slams his phone against the bedside table in his haste to take a shower.

He's not sorry that it makes Clarington jump and stare at him over the pages he's been reading. He blames his roommate for sparking this desire in the first place.

* * *

"How do you do it?" he asks on Wednesday night, splayed across his bed while trying to read a section of his Chemistry textbook on his own. His fingers have been smoothing over the pages to hold the words steady but he's been incredibly distracted since he started. Despite his improving fluency in understanding how to rewrite chemical formulas, it's hard when all he's thinking about is his dick. He should probably be relieved by the fact Clarington has been scratching his pen on exercise books at his desk for hours rather than being too close.

"Do what?" Clarington says, his pen pausing above the page. Sebastian wonders what he's been working on.

"Relieve your… _tension_ ," he says carefully, trying to appear unaffected rather than eager. "If you aren't bi, then how do you see girls?"

Clarington's pen lowers as he looks over his shoulder. A wicked smirk curls his lips, his eyebrows arched high. It makes Sebastian worry about what he might have unleashed. "It's taken you two months to finally feel the squeeze?"

"You're avoiding the question," Sebastian says bluntly, deflecting Clarington's question as easily as his own had been deflected. He refuses to concede he's horny and he definitely isn't going to admit anything about his sexuality.

Clarington laughs, the sound easy and free, like he knows exactly how Sebastian feels anyway. He turns his chair to focus on Sebastian more intently. "Sometimes you can set up a rendezvous with a Crawford girl. It helps."

Sebastian's eyebrows rise. Crawford is a long walk through the gardens. To his knowledge, there's nothing between the school except acres of grass and trees. Where sexual trysts could occur is a mystery to him. The snow had slowly begun to thaw and turned into a slushy wetness that soaked through any shoe that wasn't properly waterproofed. In the middle of winter, he couldn't imagine any Crawford girl or Dalton boy tramping through the cold just for sex. Were they smuggled inside the school walls? Did they screw against a tree? Or on a blanket on the ground? Or in a tent? That set up a more important question – How could anyone hold a boner when it was so goddamn cold?

Clarington continues his explanation as if Sebastian isn't turning the information over and over in his head. "Other guys I know have an unspoken agreement to help each other out when it's needed. Blowies or handies are relatively common around here."

Sebastian chokes on swallowing his saliva and gapes at his roommate, every other piece of information long forgotten. It makes him start thinking about every boy he passes on a daily basis, every boy he goes to classes with. Do  _they_  have that agreement in place? "But it's  _Ohio_."

" _And_?" Clarington prompts with a confused expression, as if their state has anything to do with it. Sebastian thinks their state has  _everything_  to do with it.

"Doing gay stuff is like… Aren't they afraid of getting beat up?" he says, feeling desperately out of his depth. He doesn't want it to seem like he's homophobic but he can't help thinking about the fear he'd felt when those sophomores had been on their knees back at Westerville High, or thinking about Blaine and the reasons for the injuries he'd suffered. He wonders if Dalton is truly so accepting that it could be a safe haven for the wounded boy when fall rolled around. He's not sure what he'd think if Blaine ended up at his old high school. He already knows it isn't the safest environment.

Clarington is looking at him oddly, as if an extra three heads have sprouted from his shoulders. "We're in a school that abhors violence and bullying," Clarington explains patiently, like he's talking to a toddler. It's a logical argument that makes Sebastian feel foolish for failing to understand that there are boys who engage in sex without strings all around him. Yet Clarington's words ring slightly false when Sebastian recalls the first day they met.

He wonders if he could come out here, if he could acknowledge what he's done with guys in the past and be accepted rather than receive a bashing. Maybe no one would even care. Maybe he'd been wrong about the pretentiousness of this place. Maybe the odd collection of snobby brats were more accepting and less interested in who you slept with than he'd expected. Maybe there were more who'd be willing to help him with his problem than he'd thought. Maybe he could-

Clarington interrupts his musings again. "If you're after something, I can set you up with people who can take care of it," his roommate says, his face impassively calm considering they're discussing  _sex_  with… Sebastian's honestly not even sure if Clarington's suggesting a girl or guy. "Unless you're a virgin, in which case it becomes more complicated."

Sebastian shakes his head, dog-earing the page in his textbook and shutting its covers. Is he allowing himself to be set up? He's not sure. He doesn't know what Clarington is thinking. "I'm not," he says eventually, unsure why it matters to clarify that. He's also not entirely sure what his roommate classifies as virginity or not. Do blowjobs count? Because although he's attempted to read about it and watched porn, he doesn't have any practice with actually…well,  _fucking_  someone.

Clarington shrugs, his hands steepling together in front of him and looking over them just like Wilson does. It makes the back of Sebastian's neck get itchy. "You prefer a chick or a dude?"

This time, it's Sebastian's turn to stare at his roommate as if he's grown a third head. As much as he keeps trying, he can't wrap his head around this conversation. Clarington's latest question makes everything come to a crashing halt though. He doesn't want to say he'd rather a guy and his preference is out there, but he also doesn't think he could stomach admitting a girl and doing anything with one. It's a question that traps him with an answer he doesn't want to give.

"I'm not interested in being set up, Clarington," he says abruptly, pushing off from the bed to have a shower before he starts preparing himself for bed. He tries to avoid looking at his roommate as he searches for his pyjamas. "I just wondered how guys survived a constant state of blue balls around here."

He wishes he hadn't seen Clarington's eyebrows quirk and his lips twitch. He wonders if his refusal to answer is an answer in itself, storing away his secret shame in something transparent enough for Clarington to see straight through. "Whatever you say, Smythe," his roommate says lightly as he turns back to his books, an echo of the words Sebastian had muttered after seeing Blaine more than a week ago.

He's pretty sure he hears a stifled laugh as he shuts the bathroom door but he doesn't dare look to see if Clarington considers himself triumphant.

* * *

He realises while he's talking to Blaine on Friday afternoon that he's been at Dalton just over two months and his parents haven't contacted him once. He also realises how his cravings for drinking or getting high have reduced, but only sometimes. There are still moments he's seized with anxiety and the urge to forget everything, like right then when the abandonment sinks in. Blaine's words fade as he's hit by a strange sense of loss, the emotional rollercoaster he's been riding for months reaching a new low that apparently goes under the ocean because he feels like he's drowning. He goes very quiet and still and forgets his conversation with Blaine entirely, his eyes prickling as something twists tighter and tighter in the middle of his chest.

"Sebastian?"

Clarington's hand on his shoulder startles him out of the crushing despair and he realises he'd dropped the phone at some point to the mattress. He scrambles to sit up, shoving his roommate away from him in the process. He can faintly hear Blaine's tinny voice from the phone on the bed.

"Sorry, I…" He shakes his head when he realises he's not sure who he's actually talking to and his frazzled words will just betray his upset mind. He snatches up his phone because that's the easiest person to get away from first because Clarington will still be standing there. "B, I have to go. I'll message you later." He hangs up abruptly and moves to pull on his shoes, the urge to get out, find space, scream into open air, crawling over him thick and fast.

"Where are you going?" Clarington asks, his hand on the strap of his bag like he's frozen, his expression undeniably alarmed.

"Out," he says shortly, ensuring he has his room key tucked into his pocket and grabbing his hoodie before he races for the door. He jogs down the corridor like he used to run down the street as he escaped his house. If anything, it just makes his chest contract further under the grip of loss and pain he's starting to feel. He really wishes he had a joint.

The doors to the back gardens open with an unpleasantly loud  _bang_  as he begins to dart through the greenery. Touches of spring are starting to appear – small floral blossoms that are braving the lingering winter chill peek out from hibernating gardens, tufts of grass have started to emerge from under piles of white slush – yet Sebastian is blind to all of it as he retreats from the school.

He finds a stone bench hidden by a well-manicured hedge, some lingering slush kicked away with a shout before he falls to the seat in a trembling heap. He doesn't notice if it's cold or not. His head falls into his hands, his fingers curl around strands of brunette hair and tug harshly, sobs rattle from his chest and slip past his lips before he can clamp down on them.

The terror he'd felt when he'd woken up alone on Christmas morning rears again, chokes him again, strangles him again. He recalls how much he'd dreaded not being the most important child and how often he'd told himself he was okay with it because Lillian  _was_  extremely sick, but it dawns on him now that he's been dumped in a boarding school and neither parent has called or messaged him. Not to see how he's doing, if he's coping, whether he's eating. Not about how Lillian's doing, whether she's had any changes, what her odds are for a transplant. He feels like they'd dropped him here in an attempt to stamp him from their lives and his absence from the house has erased them of their parental responsibilities to care about him as much as they care about Lillian.

As far as Sebastian can tell, as crushed as he is to admit it, they appear to have done a pretty good job of obliterating him.

A hand closes firmly around his shoulder and he knows without looking who it is. One way or another, two months of being civil has led to some sort of tenuous bridge stretching between them. He can't decide if he's grateful or furious that Clarington followed him after his desperate dash from the confines of their dorm room.

"You want to talk about it?" Clarington says, his voice low – perhaps an attempt to be soothing – as the large hand moves to rub circles between his shoulder blades and his weight settles close to Sebastian's side.

Sebastian shakes his head, wiping quickly at his eyes and trying to cover up that he was ever in such a state of distress. He inhales deeply and attempts to compose himself. He's not sure how much Clarington saw. He hopes it wasn't much. "I'm fine."

Clarington snorts and Sebastian practically feels his heart drop. Perhaps his roommate saw enough to make him disbelieve any words that would pour forth from his mouth. "And my father wants me to be the Secretary of Defence one day," Clarington says calmly but it reminds Sebastian how fucking weird his roommate is sometimes. "Lying to ourselves might help us sleep better at night, Seb, but it doesn't make it the truth."

"It's personal," he mumbles, struggling to sort through the mess still cluttering his head. He can't help feeling that he really should be past his parents screwing him over. It shouldn't make him feel as raw as it does that they've effectively abandoned him for two months, right?

"Generally things which are upsetting  _are_  personal," Clarington says. It's almost infuriating how easily he blows holes in Sebastian's attempts at brushing him off. He can't help shoving lightly at Clarington's body as a mild punishment. "Hey. You say a stupid thing, you get a stupid response, Smythe."

"That's not how the phrase goes," Sebastian mutters, wrapping his arms around his body in an attempt to hold all the fractured pieces together before he ends up scattered on the grass. "I… Parents just sort of suck."

"Welcome to the club." Clarington pats him on the back in a way Sebastian supposes is meant to be comforting. "So who's B?"

Sebastian glances across at Clarington, who is watching him intently. He's not sure how to answer. Sebastian spends a hell of lot of time trying to discern what he and Blaine really  _are_. Sometimes he flirts and enjoys the cheeky banter, sometimes he listens and attempts cheering up. He doesn't understand what it is and he's afraid to label it. He hasn't got the faintest clue about relationships or how to classify what he and Blaine have.

"He's just a friend from when I-" Explaining he met Blaine in the hospital opens up a whole new path he has no interest in journeying down with his roommate. He stops the explanation before it's truly begun and wrinkles his nose. "He's just a friend."

" _He_?" Clarington raises an eyebrow, perhaps surprised by the gender, perhaps intrigued. Sebastian worries it says something about his sexuality he isn't willing to speak aloud. "You talk to him a lot?"

Sebastian knows he doesn't really need to answer that particular question. Clarington has heard more than enough bits and pieces of his conversations with Blaine after his roommate has returned from Warbler practice or cadet training or wherever else he goes.

"There's nothing wrong with having a friend," Clarington shrugs, looking out across the gardens instead of forcing Sebastian to maintain his careful veneer under his roommate's scrutiny. He's pretty sure his eyes are still red. "If he keeps you sane and grounded in this place, then he must be worth holding onto."

Sebastian's gaze drifts to follow Clarington's, not sure he wants to admit that he still feels alone at Dalton after two months. He knows he only has himself to blame for being too wary to truly trust anyone, forever suspicious of their motives after the way his parents have treated him the past six months. Or four years. "He's… I think he needs a friend more than me," Sebastian says, not entirely sure how true that is.

"The beauty of friendship is that it works both ways."

Sebastian concedes the point with a slight tilt of his head. He knows he'll have to message Blaine later. The boy is probably worried or upset that he did something that made Sebastian angry enough to run away. They've never ended communication so suddenly. He hopes Blaine isn't freaking out or hating him.

Beside him, Clarington exhales in a way that seems slow and measured, the breath passing through his teeth with a slight whistle. "Can I ask you something?"

Sebastian thinks he knows what's coming before it's even said. Clarington's tone has that same element of hesitation to it as Blaine's months ago. "I'm not gay," he says, although the words stick in his throat slightly more than they had when he'd been drunk and high and trying to convince the guys in the park that a girl's blowjob abilities weren't as good as illicit substances. He doesn't want to think about why it's harder to say now. It's easier just to pin the blame on the fact he's sober.

"I never said you were," his roommate says defensively, but Sebastian instinctively knows he's right about what Clarington was going to ask. There's no question to fill the ensuing silence. Clarington's voice softens as he says, "There's nothing wrong with being gay though."

He glances sideways, assessing Clarington who seems to be thoughtfully – or studiously – looking at the grass in front of them like it just said something utterly profound. "Planning on throwing a pride parade?"

Clarington shoves lightly at his shoulder with a playful frown. "You talk to him a lot, you know? You're different after you talk to him. I've seen your face  _when_  you talk to him."

He feels something uncertain twist in his chest. He always avoids dwelling on how he feels during and after his conversations with Blaine because he's not sure he understands it. There's a distinct level of protectiveness, of wanting to shelter the smaller boy from any future harm because he can remember how broken he'd looked in the PICU, but... "What are you saying?" he says suspiciously.

Clarington holds up his hands like Sebastian's about to open fire with an interrogation. "I'm not saying anything." He looks at Sebastian's disbelieving face and rolls his eyes, adding, " _Honestly_  I'm not."

Sebastian doesn't feel convinced because there's something in what his roommate has seen that suggests his face betrays that Blaine is someone far more important than just a friend. Clarington shrugs, as if he's not going to fight to convince both of them of the unspoken words that dangle between them.

The silence that settles is faintly awkward but Sebastian isn't sure what to say and it seems like Clarington isn't exactly forthcoming with anything either. He ends up listening to the birds twittering in the trees and listening to the faint buzz of insects starting to emerge as the cold winter fades. He notices the light level reducing but he doesn't really want to return to their room. The dimming of the light makes his own thoughts turn darker, the same ball of hurt swelling in his chest again.

"Come on," Clarington says, standing and holding out his hand. Sebastian's eyebrows lower into a frown and Clarington rolls his eyes and waits.

There are a million things going on that he doesn't understand but he's still feeling upset by the shattering blow of realising his parents have become so distant to him. He's chilled to the centre of his stomach even though his heart writhes painfully against his ribcage. As much as he hates to admit it, Clarington's hand might be the only thing that keeps him hinged together.

Still feeling uncertain, he places his palm against Clarington's and allows himself to be led back to their room. He feels vaguely like a dutiful toddler following its mother through the shopping mall, or maybe a duckling following the mother swan, but he's not sure how comfortable he'd be walking on his own. It feels as though his strength fades with every step, the world increasingly off balance even when his roommate tries to steady him with a hand to his arm. He thinks he needs some of Blaine's powerful healing hugs to stabilise him again but he's not sure he'd be granted another weekend release so soon.

Clarington opens the door and guides him inside, a concerned frown marring his forehead as he touches his fingertips to Sebastian's temple like he's going to draw the thoughts straight from his scrambled mind. "You know you don't have to bottle up everything you think, right?"

He shakes his head and moves away, freeing himself of Clarington's presence before he becomes too distracted to think straight. He can't admit that he's struggling because to do so verges on being a failure. Blaine needs him to be strong. Lillian needs him to be strong. The slightest moment of weakness and he might just splinter apart completely.

"A guy is allowed some secrets, Clarington."

Clarington remains silent behind him as he kicks off his shoes and peels off his hoodie. He can hear the faint sounds of his roommate's breathing as he stands by his desk and looks down blankly. He's not sure how many minutes he stares at the books and papers scattered across the wooden surface before he hears the door shut.

When he looks behind him, the room is empty.

* * *

He texts Blaine later that evening in an attempt to apologise and explain that he'd just had a 'moment'. He's undeniably hurt by the brief response though and he rereads the message until he's sure he hasn't made mistake and it's imprinted in his mind.

It's not that Blaine's response feels  _cold_  exactly, just…distant. He's not sure he can blame the other boy though since he's not sure he could explain the complicated array of thoughts coursing through him, but he's tried  _so hard_  to hold it together for Blaine and now it's like he's ruined everything because he got distracted by the bullshit that is his parents. He feels the old flame of self-hatred and guilt that he didn't care enough about Lillian's health and that's why he's here flicker to life again.

He tries to ignore it.

* * *

Sebastian becomes increasingly aware of Wes observing him from a distance at meal times while Clarington sits next to him over the next week. He notices Clarington speaking into Wes' ear and he can't help wondering if tiny secrets are being fed alongside mouthfuls of pasta and vegetables. There's an uncomfortable feeling of betrayal as they watch him force his way through breakfast, lunch and dinner.

When he can no longer stand it on Friday night, he nearly slams his chair under the table so hard that the chair topples to the ground. He just needs to get away from being stared at like he's a zoo creature and stalks from the dining hall, uncomfortably aware that at least two pairs of eyes are following his retreat.

He paces around the small space of his room and the four walls become a cage he can't escape, fidgeting with his phone because he knows he could message Blaine since the other boy can nearly always calm him down. Except then he remembers that there's been a wall between them for a week and he isn't sure how to scale it because he can't get a grip on anything in his life right now. Panic stabs him at the realisation that he's alone again, not just because of his parents but because of Blaine too, when Clarington enters the room.

"What's  _so_  interesting that you have to gossip with Montgomery about me all evening?" he snaps before the door is even closed. The pent up frustration that has been eking out of him for weeks is starting to unravel to the point of exploding. He knows it isn't really Clarington's fault. It's a betrayal that burns deeper, all the way down to his gut where he's struggling to accept that his parents have abandoned him to focus on Lillian's poor health – and he's not sure he can blame them for it.

"We're concerned about you," Clarington answers as he shuts the door and locks Sebastian into the cage. His roommate's face is annoyingly neutral. Sebastian hates it. He hates that Clarington has his defences up so high that he can't even read him.

"Why do  _you_  care?" he grunts, tossing his phone at his bed when he realises he's way too riled up to think about putting letters together into something coherent and that calling Blaine could very well be a disaster.

"I share my room with you," Clarington says calmly, as if it's easy to explain why he feels the need to talk  _about_  him rather than talk  _to_  him.

Sebastian folds his arms over his chest and Clarington takes one step closer, like he's a horse that might be easily spooked. He gets close enough that some of Sebastian's surly expression begins to falter into uncertainty and he takes a step back with every step forward of his roommate. It's an unpleasant game of cat and mouse, one he's not sure he likes the unknown rules of very much. It's too reminiscent of the first time they met and yet there's something else…

When he feels his back flatten against the wall, Clarington only a handful of feet away from him, he can feel the tenuous threads of tension starting to tighten in his chest, twanging with an unpleasant sound that seems to be a warning of some type.

A warning of  _what_  he isn't sure.

Clarington invades his space and Sebastian realises his roommate has grown, standing a fraction of an inch taller than him. He studies the greenish hazel eyes as if he might somehow unearth Clarington's thoughts.

"Fight back," Clarington murmurs, barely a foot between them. His roommate lacks any sort of defensiveness and Sebastian's not sure why he's meant to be fighting him. Maybe Clarington sees something on his face because his brows crinkle together, a lopsided grin spreading across his mouth. "Ah. Not afraid of me anymore?"

Sebastian feels completely confused by the entire encounter. It's similar to their first interaction, when Clarington had been violent for no reason but now it's as if he's  _trying_  to push Sebastian's buttons and is disappointed that he's failing.

There's a moment, a moment of an ordinary inhaled breath that ends up getting caught somewhere in the middle when Clarington leans closer, his eyes dropping from Sebastian's. His intention is suddenly alarming clear. Sebastian thinks with his dick first – he so  _badly_  wants to get laid – and then his heart and brain catch up.

And he reacts.

The shove to Clarington's chest is sudden and powerful. His roommate ends up sprawled on the floor, something satisfied in his expression that twists Sebastian's intestines into a figure-eight around his stomach. He can hear the blood roaring in his ears as he stares down at Clarington. His hands tremble by his sides. His eyes prickle with tears he refuses to shed.

He's moving before his brain has even caught up with the action, darting past Clarington to scoop his phone from the top of the blanket and out the door. He's not sure where he's going but his feet take him anyway, sprinting outside to space, outside to air. It's almost dark but he can see well enough to spy a tree that is close to the fence. If he could climb it…

He walks around the trunk a few times, eyeing the branches. He's not exactly the strongest in gym class, but adrenaline makes him desperate enough that he jumps at the lowest branch, scrabbling his way up the trunk. The bough bends dangerously under his weight but with enough grunts and curses, he succeeds in pulling himself up.

It's easier after that to scale the branches, climbing high enough to get one leg over the fence bordering the school and easing down the other side. The fence had made the school feel like a prison and he feels a thrill of victory at throwing their stupid rules in their faces, before the reason for his escape comes back to him and he takes off again.

He's still running – or at least, it's more of a jog now – down the street when he pulls out his phone to dial a familiar number. It's such a familiar situation to have his hands shaking, his breathing unsteady, his mind in three million pieces, and there's only one thing he can focus on – how badly he needs to forget it all.

" _Seb?_ "

"Hey, T. Short notice I know but… Wanna get the guys together tonight?"

* * *

_**~TBC~** _


	10. Chapter 10

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
**Word Count:** 6,903 ****  
Summary: Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. ****  
**Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:**  Underage drug and alcohol abuse. Some language.

* * *

It takes him at least an hour to trek halfway across town to meet Terry and the guys. It's a different park from usual – he has to check the GPS on his phone twice to ensure he's going in the right direction – but when he gets there, something loosens in his chest at the way Mitch and John get to their feet and gather him into a tight group hug.

"It isn't the same without you, dude," Aiden says when their hands grasp and he gets pulled into a back-slapping contest of macho masculinity he's never fully understood but participates in anyway.

Terry regards him carefully, the darkness casting deep shadows across his face and making him seem vaguely dangerous. His eyes glitter as Sebastian rubs the back of his neck with discomfort and tries to offer an encouraging smile.

"Thanks for managing this on short notice," he says, fully aware that he lacks more than a few dollars in his pockets to pay for whatever they've amassed to share. He owes Terry. Big time.

His toes curl in his shoes as Terry tilts his head to the side and continues to stare at him. Cold fingers of distrust scratch at his insides for reasons he can't explain.

"I was starting to think you'd forgotten we existed," Terry says, his voice cooler than Sebastian's heard in years. Beside him, he feels John tense and it makes him stiffen his spine in response, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation and himself. He doesn't need another fight tonight. He just needs to forget. He just needs to pass out without any anxieties cluttering up his head.

He wonders if maybe he's become a pretentious asshole like the rest of Dalton and that's why Terry is so guarded. Or maybe he's just being perceived as a pretentious asshole, which couldn't be further from the truth considering how much he continues to resent what he's surrounded by on a daily basis.

"I can't even explain how fucking hard the new school has been to get used to."

Flicking the switch into being a public school boy that has no regard for appropriate, respectful language feels odd. He's heard  _some_  cursing at Dalton, but it's a rarity. Jesus, what if he  _is_  becoming a pretentious asshole?

"And yet you're here tonight?"

Sebastian glances at John, Aiden and Mitch. None of them look like they're wasted. Yet. Would they defend him if Terry tried to out-muscle him physically? Or would they sit idly by with their bottles and weed and cheer their leader on?

"I had to get the fuck out of there, man!" he bursts out, some of his frustration and fear from barely an hour ago bubbling to the surface. "I scaled the goddamn fence by climbing a tree."

Mitch claps him on the shoulder and pulls him closer. "You reckon you'll go back?" The question is said quietly, like it's a secret only they'll share, but he knows everyone is straining to hear his answer.

Sebastian shrugs. He can't help but wonder when the school will become aware of his absence and what the consequences for his escape will be. Will he lose any accrued privileges to leave on the weekend to visit Lillian and Blaine? Will he be expelled? Will James call the police, or, worse, his parents? Will he still have Clarington as a roommate after the stunt he pulled? Or can he request a roommate transfer?

"Jesus Christ, I can hear your stressing from here. Sit the fuck down and have a fucking shot, Sebastian," Terry grunts, clambering up the playground equipment and taking his place at the top. It's a physical reflection of his power in the group but it's not as though Sebastian ever planned on taking that away from the other guy. He's not sure he ever  _would_  plan it either. He figures it's just better to let some people lead and allow himself to simply follow.

He wilts almost immediately, grateful beyond words for the termination of the interrogation. The other guys fall into line easily: Mitch drags him over to sit on the first available piece of flat equipment, Aiden shoves a brown-papered bottle into his hands, John snaps a lighter against a joint until the tip glows red in the dark. He isn't sure what the bottle contains – isn't sure he cares – but when the first drop hits his tongue, a smile curves his lips. He swallows several mouthfuls like the stuff is water on the hottest July day. He can't remember brandy ever tasting so sweet and a fire ignites in his belly, spreading warmth to the tips of his fingers and toes.

"Figured you deserved your own posh crap after more than two months on the wagon," Aiden explains when he swaps the bottle for John's joint.

"I'm honestly not sure anyone at that school knows what a fucking drink  _is_ ," he complains as Aiden chuckles. He tosses a smile over his shoulder before leaning his head against a metal pole and inhaling smoke deep into his lungs once, twice, thrice, more.

He allows his eyes to shut as his bloodstream absorbs the rapid succession of hits and blindly passes the joint off to someone else. He's pretty sure he can feel a tingling sensation in his cheeks from the alcohol seeping into his body. It makes him realise that he hadn't considered his lack of drugs in months, far too focused on trying to forget, trying to laugh, trying to calm down as quickly as possible. He should probably slow down before he puts himself in the hospital alongside Lillian.

He attempts to make conversation by asking how they're doing, but he has little interest in actually paying attention to what gets said. He wonders if it's wrong to be using them for their company while he gets wasted but maybe he vaguely relies on them to call someone if he has a seizure or passes out. Any desire to extend a friendship, where he listens to their problems and they listen to his, is pretty minimal. He's got enough bullshit in his life without becoming world-weary because he starts taking on theirs.

He's conscious that Terry is watching him while he pushes his old limits of consumption beyond what is probably safe. He rationalises it by telling himself that he doesn't need to stumble his way home to his parents or to Dalton tonight. His months of sobriety have reduced his tolerance but he takes pleasure in abusing that, inhaling more smoke and drinking more brandy until he can no longer feel his face. It occurs to him that he's not entirely sure whether he's sitting or flat on his back or hanging upside down from his knees because the world seems to keep teetering and spinning on its axis faster than he's ever experienced and it's  _awesome_.

"Seb's gone," he hears Terry say from somewhere, his voice sounding entirely disembodied with Sebastian's limited awareness, but trying to turn his head skywards to see the leader proves impossible with his leaden limbs. A heavy hand presses against his shoulder for reasons he's not sure about but can't find it in him to push it away or see who it is. He doesn't really care.

The sensation of floating is less like being on a cloud this time and more like being buoyant in a pool of water. It feels like he's laid out with his limbs loose and supported and the heat of the sun is warming his face – even when he's not sure entirely sure he can feel his lips. He feels relaxed, peacefully suspended on an undulating surface.

On the other hand, he's painfully aware of the thud of his heartbeat in his ears and the tremble in his fingertips. Somehow it manages to uncomfortably drag him back to being in his dorm room. The floating feeling gives way to something solid – the wall of his room – and he can see Clarington getting closer and closer as the fear of receiving a fist to the face again fills him. Somehow the image of Clarington's angry face blurs with Blaine's, twisted with a rage he's never,  _ever_  seen and then thinking about Blaine leads to thoughts about the hospital which leads to Lillian and then his parents and he starts to circle back to the loneliness and hurt and abandonment they left him with and-

"Dude, I think he's  _crying_."

Aiden's words wander around his head for several minutes, looping on a circuit he can't make sense of, echoing in all corners of the vacant expanse of his brain, until they start to distort into something he no longer recognises. It doesn't even register the comment is about  _him_  until arms wrap around him and he thinks they're vines that are going to try to strangle him. He blinks open scared eyes and in the darkness, he vaguely discerns that he's being held by Mitch.

The pressure of Mitch's arms relaxes slightly, enough to allow him to breathe at least, and it's like something cracks inside him. It takes a while for him to process that the trembling shoulders and wracking sobs are  _his_ , that  _he's_  the one who is vibrating apart with gasped half-breaths and sniffles. He feels a sense of panic, of impending doom, although he can't figure out  _why_  he feels like that. Maybe Blaine's never going to walk again. Maybe Lillian's going to die. Maybe the zombie apocalypse is coming. His chest aches with radiating pain that threatens to crush his ribcage around his too-fast heart and he's no longer floating or against a wall or in a hospital bed but drowning, getting pummelled into oblivion by roiling waves despite never having gone to the beach to know what such a sensation feels like.

"Seb?" Terry's voice is suddenly closer and louder than it had been before. His head lolls on his shoulders, attempting to squint into the darkness to see the senior's face. It bulges in places he's never noticed before. It's monstrous and bizarre and he flinches away from it. "Hey man, you're okay."

He shakes his head, the gesture weak and unsteady. Everything is so  _loud_  in his head and he can't escape it and it's scaring the crap out of him. He tries to pull at his ears because maybe if he can rip them off then he can stop hearing and then he'll have the silence back and he can go back to floating.

"I can't… T, I c-can't do this…" he says, the words choked and strangled and barely recognisable as his voice.

"Do what?" John's hands brush over his shoulders and anchor him still when everything feels like it's crumbling around him and he's horribly close to slumping over and collapsing to the chips of bark on the ground.

Terry is watching him again. The parts of his face that are illuminated by a street lamp show he's waiting expectantly but Sebastian has already forgotten what he said and even if he could remember, he has no idea what it's meant to mean because he doesn't know what it is he can't do and everything feels completely overwhelming and he's not handling it well at all and he can't seem to catch his breath which is probably because he's still sobbing and he-

"Jesus Christ," Terry mutters, a hand grasping his cheek and raising his head because he's completely incapable of keeping it up himself. He can barely make out Terry's face in the light but it still looks unnatural. "Come on, Seb. Take a deep breath for me. You're having a bad trip."

He doesn't understand but he tries anyway, tries to take a deep breath, but every time he does it's like he's drawing more water into his lungs and he's suffocating and drowning and sinking into a watery grave. There are too many hands on him, too many people holding him up when it feels like everything is falling down, too many things he can't contain, too many things he can't control, too many times he can't save-

" _Seb_ ," Terry says, his voice shockingly firm in the panicked thought process Sebastian can't seem to stop. Two hands cradle his cheeks, holding up his head because the strength in his muscles is practically non-existent. Terry's eyes shine faintly in the darkness and he tries to focus on them continuing to gaze at him. "Take a deep breath and calm the fuck down."

It's John's fingers which massage across his shoulders. It's Mitch's hand that rubs up and down his back. He might be thoroughly disinterested in what happens in their lives and has never shown much interest despite years of being permitted into their company but it's because of those years that he allows the comfort rather than pushes away from it. He's not sure he has the strength to push them away even if he'd tried but it's a nice thought. Every time his head starts to lower and his eyelids start to droop, Terry straightens it again and brings him back.

He has no idea how long it takes for his breathing to regulate or the heaviness in his limbs to fade and he feels like he starts to crawl towards the surface, away from the terrifying black darkness below him. He's never had a high like this and it's completely terrifying. He's pretty sure his limbs are still shaking with the lingering fear of it all surrounding him and squashing him.

"You with us?" Terry asks, his voice laced with undeniable concern as he continues to hold Sebastian's head up for him.

Sebastian blinks slowly, his brain turning over the words slowly, each word separated into their letters and strung together with invisible threads behind his eyes. His eyebrows crinkle together. "As opposed to being against you?"

"And he's back," Mitch says appreciatively, patting his back gently. John leaves a lingering squeeze to his shoulders before his hands slide away. Terry's thumbs drag over his cheekbones to collect the tears that stain his face. It hits him then how bad it must have gotten, how pathetic he must have been, how stupid he is for being such a young, dumb teenage and embarrassment at his breakdown starts to seep into his bones. Boys didn't cry!

"Sorry," he mumbles, ducking his head out of Terry's hands to wipe at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. He's never felt so much, so intensely, for so long. His fear over Lillian, his worry over Blaine, his misery over his parents, his apprehension over Clarington's… It's like it had all rolled into a big mass of panic and made it impossible to think or move or breathe.

"The fuck for?" Aiden says, his voice so unexpected that it startles Sebastian. He'd honestly forgotten Aiden was around. He seems to be a couple of tiers higher on the equipment, gazing distantly into the darkness.

"You're just out of practice," Terry says, ruffling his hair and crouching in front of him to continue watching him and probably ensuring he doesn't trip back over the edge into the nightmare of his own creation.

The change in Terry, from guarded and cold to someone that's taking care of him, feels jarring. There's something in his body language that reminds him of when Lillian would trip over and skin her knees and he'd crouch in front of her, gain her attention, and blow against her injuries because he claimed his breath had magic healing powers that Tinkerbell has given him especially to take care of her. Something in Terry's posture screams that he's got siblings, that he's taken care of people younger than himself before, but Sebastian doesn't dare ask. He doesn't really want to know.

"You took too much and got hammered, Seb," Terry explains slowly, perhaps ensuring every word sinks into Sebastian's dulled mind. "You forgot your limits and fell so far off the wagon that you landed headfirst. You're okay now, right?"

"Yeah, but…" He shrugs and starts trying to neaten his hair, mostly because it gives him something to do with his hands other than fidget and look like the anxious wreck he feels on the inside.

"Don't worry about it," Mitch says, patting his back again and effectively silencing whatever defence he might have been trying to mount against their reassurances.

He's not sure he feels soothed but he allows Mitch's hand to stay on his back to keep him supported and still and stop him toppling to the ground. His gaze drifts in and out of focus as he continues to look wordlessly down at Terry. He still feels an urge to cry but he doesn't want to have another breakdown. He doesn't want to be seen as a lunatic in front of these guys.

"I always knew private school was fucking bullshit," Aiden comments lightly, which makes John dissolve into cackling laughter behind him. The faint smile that draws Sebastian's lips upwards is cynical. He won't deny that Dalton is harder than public school in Westerville ever was. He won't deny that he's surrounded by jerks that he doesn't feel close to. He won't deny that he feels more at home with these guys supplying him with drugs than his real home or his dorm room.

Terry winces and stands, stretching out his knees. He's pretty sure he hears one of them pop before he turns his attention back to Sebastian. "You're okay," Terry reminds him gently, squeezing his shoulder before climbing past him to sit on a higher tier of the equipment again.

The constancy of Mitch's touch gradually becomes something he barely feels but is glad to have. It helps to keep him grounded, helps to avoid him falling into that void of despair again. He doesn't lean into the touch – he doesn't want to do anything that might seem gay – but he doesn't shrug it away either. It doesn't seem like anyone else minds though. Maybe they're aware that he needs to be held down to stop him floating away like a helium balloon. Maybe Mitch's hand is the anchor to hold him down.

He still feels like a mess though. His thoughts continue to spin in circles and as much as he doesn't want to think about him, he can't stop it: he keeps trying to figure out why he pushed Clarington away. He tries to put it in perspective that it's been  _months_  since he had any form of sexual contact and the kiss would have been easy. He could have let Clarington's hand do all the work and gotten off, nice and easy and no strings attached. They could have had one of those arrangements that other boys had.

And yet he'd run away from his roommate. Hell, he'd run away from  _school_  and gotten plastered instead. Did it mean that he wasn't gay if he wasn't allowing some guy to kiss him? Did it mean he was still fearful of Clarington breaking his neck? Did it mean he was afraid of rumours at Dalton? Or maybe it was because he was friends with Blaine now? But was he friends with Blaine, or was it  _more_  than a friendship yet  _less_  than a relationship? He'd never let the guys at Westerville kiss him, instead preferring simply to tell them what to do and allowing them to get on their knees and do the rest. Who knew where else their mouths had been and how recently they'd been disinfected. He didn't want their lips near his. Was that it? Had he reared back from Clarington because he didn't want to be  _kissed_? If that was the case, what was  _that_  about? Why was kissing someone, anyone, so important to him that he'd fled?

He's loosely aware that the guys swap stories and jokes around him but he barely hears them, too lost in his own musings that seem to go in more directions than tree roots. He's no longer overwhelmed by the thought of Clarington or the associated feeling of fear but he doesn't know whether he should try to get back to Dalton tonight. Do they do bed checks? Will Clarington raise the alarm that he didn't return? Or will Clarington keep his big mouth shut because the reason for Sebastian's flight is one his roommate won't want to give?

He can't shake the anxiety that his parents will get called if he doesn't return. Maybe Clarington thinks he's gone for a long walk in the gardens again and so his absence hasn't been raised, but he really doesn't want to return. Not tonight. Maybe if his parents get called, they'll suddenly wake up from their own two month coma where they'd forgotten he existed. Maybe realising their son was lashing out, hurting, running away, meant they'd call him and check on him.

He kind of wants to call Blaine, to hear his voice and see what is opinion is on the matter. It doesn't mean he'd listen to it but Blaine's input has some importance to him. In any case, Blaine would be far more coherent than his own thought process right now. Except maybe calling Blaine would cause major problems, because Blaine could turn him in for running away or he could be really disappointed by Sebastian getting wasted again or the other guys might overhear the conversation. Calling Blaine isn't an option if there are so many undesirable outcomes.

"Hey." Aiden nudges him and he stirs from the endless hole of his thoughts. He's been so distracted that he hadn't noticed his eyelids turn to marble, making it almost impossible to open them and see any of the guys. "Where you going tonight?"

He tries to raise his head, tries to force his eyes open. He's pretty sure he's swaying and he feels Mitch's hand move to his shoulder and tighten, keeping him upright if not still. "Dunno."

"Want a couch?"

It takes him a moment to understand when his awareness is so muted. He vaguely remembers Aiden's offer to John at Christmas and is surprised he's getting the same offer when he's so much younger than these guys and he barely knows them. He's aware that it's cold even with his hoodie on. He'd seen small patches of partially-thawed snow when he'd entered the park. He's also aware of the fact that he's slept under the stars in colder weather simply to avoid returning home, although he'd normally dressed for the occasion with a scarf and a beanie and a windbreaker. Aiden's suggestion is completely unexpected and he has no idea how to respond. He doesn't want to be an imposition but he also doesn't want to freeze to death.

"I think he does," Terry says for him, his voice too clear for someone who usually loses himself in the bottom of a bottle. Sebastian tries to squint in the dark upwards but all he can make out is Terry's ill-defined, shadowed form. "He's just too polite to say so, A."

Sebastian grimaces and rubs a hand roughly across his face in an attempt to wake up. He doesn't like Terry speaking for him, even when he's struggling to keep his thoughts in a coherent track, but what Terry says is true enough.

No one moves for a while. Sebastian notices John has started snoring and Mitch's hand has settled heavier on his shoulder, indicating that maybe he's also verging on falling asleep. His own exhaustion starts to set in as the fear subsides, as the high wears off, as the alcoholic numbness takes over.

"Home time!" Terry announces, almost said too cheerily for Sebastian to tolerate.

It cuts through the stillness and silence that has surrounded them and spurs Aiden into moving, shaking John while Terry shakes Mitch. Sebastian stifles a yawn and struggles to his feet. His knees threaten to buckle and it's only Terry and Aiden's quick hands which keep him from falling to the ground. It's only then that he starts to recognise he's really, really wasted. He's forced to hold onto Aiden and John because his feet won't cooperate with the signals his brain keeps sending. He doesn't know their destination as they stumble through deserted Westerville streets, although occasionally they pass a signpost with a name he recognises. He presses his lips together when they cross a particular street that would start a path towards his home, an odd mixture of longing and loss converging in the centre of his chest. He amuses himself trying to imagine the reaction of his parents if he showed up on their doorstep like this. Would they be enraged? Would they be concerned? Would they recognise him? Would they slam the door in his face? Would they put him in the back of a police car and take him to rehab? Would they ban him from seeing Lillian again?

He notices John stays with them but he doesn't ask why. They tread a path up to the front of a darkened house and Aiden unlocks the front door with John following. He steps inside with his hands pressed to the wall, glancing curiously around once the lights have been switched on. There are questions on his tongue because it's small, very small, and the walls are utterly devoid of photos. He's not sure how he feels about it other than it seems like a very lonely place. Despite being inside Aiden's home, he still has absolutely no understanding or insight into the boy's life.

"You know where to go," Aiden says to John, who gives a feeble nod and shuffles down the corridor. Sebastian's eyebrows crinkle together, wondering where he goes – are Aiden and John living together? are they  _together_  together? – but he says nothing as Aiden guides him into a living room with a couch, two arm chairs and a small television. "It's not much, I know."

Sebastian waves his hand absently, aiming to pat Aiden's arm but missing entirely. His depth perception is shot to pieces. "A couch is fine. Thank you."

Aiden nods and helps him to the couch. A folded blanket sits on one of the armchairs, as if it's always prepared to be used on keeping someone warm. Sebastian wonders how often Aiden takes people in to sleep on his couch. He wonders where Aiden's parents are. He wonders about a lot of things he has no intention of asking.

"You gonna be okay?"

Sebastian's fingers bunch into the fabric that Aiden drapes over his shoulders and tucks around his legs. "Where's the bathroom?" he asks, deflecting the question when he realises he hasn't been to the toilet in hours and peeing on someone else's couch probably isn't the best thing he could do.

Aiden offers directions and checks if he'll be okay again. He figures he'll be fine on his own – or at least as fine as possible when everything around him is still coated in a thick haze – and Aiden departs for his own bed.

Sebastian finds his way to the bathroom after a long, cautious trip. He relieves himself with a pleased hiss, splashes some water on his face to clean off the gunk of his tears and then swallows a few mouthfuls to reduce the dry, scratchy feeling at the back of his throat. He barely looks at himself in the mirror, knowing it's not going to be a pretty sight, and begins the return journey of tottering to the couch. Once he's collapsed into the plush cushions, his mind begins ticking over again as he lays there, staring at the blank television screen and imagining it playing a soap opera of his life to date. It seems to get stuck on the scene where Clarington has him against the wall.

At some point, the memory starts to fragment and distort, the tape spilling out of the cassette and the TV in front of him exploding in a shower of sparks. He scrunches his eyes shut and tries to breathe deeply, digging his short fingernails into his temples and trying desperately to forget it all and get some sleep instead.

* * *

_The corridors are bleached of life and colour as he floats through them. He feels as though he should question why he's disembodied and hovering three inches from the ground, like he's a ghost or something, but as soon as the thought crosses his mind, it's gone again. He sees people he recognises but they don't recognise him. Or maybe they just don't see him. When he tries to wave his hands in front of their faces, they look right through him._

_It's like he's completely invisible again, completely unable to be noticed despite his best efforts at gaining attention._

_Something stabs in his chest._

_Something stabs in his gut._

_He sees Montgomery and Clarington walking towards him down the white-washed corridor, their heads bent in conversation like always. His eyes narrow as he gets closer, determined to understand what they're saying, determined to find out if it's about him._

_Except they seem to be talking in another language. He doesn't understand anything. Something in that scares him even more. What if they're still talking about him even though he can't be seen?_

_Frustrated, fearful, he floats further down the corridor. He realises that it's a blurry combination of Dalton's wooden hallways with elaborate and expensive artworks and the hospital's white walls and boring art. Boys in blazers mill among doctors in white coats and nurses in scrubs. There's boys with school bags and Therese with an IV machine and a doctor wheeling a crash cart. He tries reaching out to touch things but he can't. His hand goes straight through everything: wood, metal, glass, bodies._

_Fear ripples through him when he realises he's suspended in a world he doesn't really exist in and he starts moving faster, straight through the ceiling to rise to the floor of the PICU. Outside Lillian's room, he discovers his parents with their arms around each other, their eyes obviously red, their shoulders obviously shaking. He screams, in terror and distress and denial, and he tries to articulate questions that demand answers but nothing comes out. No sound fills the silent void in the corridor. Only the muffled sobs of his parents._

_His only option is to seek Blaine. Blaine will have the answers. He sinks through the floor and sprints through corridors until he's on the physical therapy rehab floor. He pushes through Blaine's door in desperation and the boy he needs is sprawled on his bed with a male he doesn't recognise hovering over him. Despite the shattering silence that invades the dream, he hears Blaine's low moan when he sees the male bite Blaine's tan neck, he sees his hips writhe against the hospital bed as hands grope between his legs._

_He squeezes his eyes closed, refusing to believe what he sees._

* * *

He wakes so suddenly that he feels a flash of electric pain or fear spread from his chest. His head is throbbing and when he tries to open his eyes, his vision swims in a way that threatens to make him sea-sick. He has no idea where he is but he at least has enough awareness to know that if he sits up too fast, he'll throw up. He's also capable of ascertaining he's on a couch rather than in a bed. All his clothes are on. No one is spooned behind him or in front of him.

Somehow that seems like a good thing to be certain of.

He lies still and starts trying to sort through the fuzzy, disconnected memories of the night before and disregard the blurry sections of the lingering nightmare. His breathing hitches when he remembers Clarington trying to kiss him and that was the trigger that led to his flight response. He doesn't remember much of what happened at the park but he instinctively seems to recall he's at Aiden's. He remembers his silent scream when he'd realised Lillian had died and he recalls his revulsion as he'd seen Blaine making out with someone and-

He's acting before he's even thought it through and it's ridiculously early but he doesn't know what else to do to calm down.

His trembling hands free his phone from the pocket of his jeans and he fumbles with pulling up Blaine's number and dialling it. The tone rings in his ear, echoing and crackling, and he listens to it so many times that it becomes white noise and he's forced to concede Blaine is fast asleep and won't answer. Disappointed, he pulls the phone from his ear and then he hears the dial tone cut out and the snap of a connected call.

"Hullo? Seb?" Blaine's voice is slurred and confused and rumpled and even though he immediately feels guilty for waking the boy up, he smiles at the sound of his voice because it's just too adorable not to.

"Hi," he says quietly, because he's pretty sure his throat has been replaced with sandpaper while he was sleeping. "I'm sorry it's so early."

"It's 'kay."

He lets his eyes close and can hear fabric moving in the background. He imagines Blaine is wriggling in his hospital bed and starts gnawing on his lip. Now that he has Blaine, he isn't sure what to say to him. It's not as if his dream was in any way a reflection of reality and even if it was, he has no right to feel so sick at seeing Blaine enjoying himself while he made out with a stranger.

"What's wrong?"

He frowns and pushes the heel of his hands against his eyes when they feel swollen enough to pop from his skull. Damn Blaine being so perceptive. "Why does anything have to be wrong?"

"It's barely six in the morning." Blaine clearly yawns over the line but his voice is increasingly lacking the groggy quality it had had a couple of minutes ago. "Honestly, would you be calling for any other reason?"

He's surprised how quickly Blaine wakes into someone coherent enough to split apart his lies. His brain is always a sluggish mess after he gets abruptly woken and he's still trying to catch up with Blaine's rapid and astute observations of his behavioural tendencies.

"Seb?"

He sighs and lets his spare hand drift from clutching at his hair to grasp the edge of the blanket. "I… I ran away from Dalton," he admits nervously.

"You  _what_?"

He ducks his head as if he's standing in front of Blaine and confessing his deepest sins. His toes curl together beneath the blanket and he wonders where his shoes are. He doesn't remember taking them off. "Last night, I… I just… I couldn't stay, B…"

"Last  _night_?" Blaine's voice pitches an octave higher and he winces. "Where the hell are you now?"

He wants to cover his head with the blanket and hang up the phone. Blaine somehow sounds angry as well as concerned and it's something he hasn't heard before and he isn't sure of the appropriate way to respond. He almost wishes he'd never made the call just so he wouldn't have to deal with Blaine sounding like a disgruntled adult.

"I… I crashed at one of the guy's places."

"'One of the guys'," Blaine repeats slowly, suspicion laden in his tone and he knows he's pretty much done for. "One of the guys you used to get high with?"

"Um…."

" _Seb_!" Blaine scolds and he squeezes his eyes closed, prepared for the lecture about how he's a disappointment and he needs to get his life in order and he's slowly killing himself and he's not to contact Blaine again because he's such a screw up and Blaine doesn't need that in his life.

When the silence lingers, when no lecture pours forth, he hesitates and opens his eyes again to stare at the blank television. "Aren't you angry?" he whispers.

"More than you know," Blaine says, but he can hear that the fury has faded from his words and now Blaine just sounds tired, deflated, concerned. "Why did you run?"

He doesn't know how to answer that question either because he's not sure he has a reason that makes sense. A kiss isn't  _that_  terrifying. It's not like he'd had a knife to his throat or…well, whatever Blaine had gone through after the dance. He could do with more sex in his life so running away makes no sense.

"It's not important," he mumbles.

Blaine hums in obvious disagreement or disapproval, which he supposes he can't fault. He  _did_  run away.

"I just… I don't know if I can go back now," he admits.

"Why wouldn't you be able to go back?"

"I'm not sure if they've realised I'm missing," he says, biting his lower lip and inhaling a breath through his nose in an attempt to quell the building nausea in his stomach at the thought of returning, of facing Clarington, of getting into massive amounts of trouble for getting drunk and high. His only saving grace is that it's a Saturday and he isn't missing from classes. "I'm not sure what the consequences are for running away."

"That doesn't mean you avoid going back," Blaine says sharply, slicing his fears into shreds. "You know the consequences will be even more severe the longer you stay away, right?"

"Yeah, but-"

"But  _nothing_ , Sebastian," Blaine interrupts and Sebastian thinks he almost sounds agitated. "You can't keep running if you're already in trouble. What happens if they contact your parents? What happens if they stop you visiting Lillian?"

Blaine certainly knows his deepest fears and insecurities. He flinches and huddles tighter under the blanket like it will shield him from facing reality. He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to imagine what will happen if he's restricted from visiting his little sister.

"What did you do last night?"

It's  _almost_  conversational given how casually Blaine asks it, but he knows what the other boy is really getting at and he can't lie. "You know who I was with."

"So I know what you did?" Blaine says with a sigh, sounding disappointed enough that Sebastian's belly clenches in discomfort. Blaine succeeds at the 'disappointed parent' thing better than his own parents. He wonders if that makes his parents terrible people or Blaine sound older for his years. "You  _need_  to go back to school, Seb."

He won't say it but there's something strange about this entire conversation. Rather than Blaine humouring his concerns or gently untangling the insecurities he has within Dalton's walls, he just feels increasingly guilty, like he's placed an enormous burden on Blaine's shoulders that the other boy never wanted. He considers offering an explanation for why he ran but he's not sure what he'd hope to achieve with saying that. The last thing he wants is Blaine to think he's scared of anything like being kissed by a guy considering what he's done before, but he also doesn't want to use past hook-ups as explanations for his behaviour because he thinks Blaine might just be  _more_  disappointed in him if he does. So if he sounds like a homophobe because he ran from a kiss where does that leave his friendship with Blaine, the victim of a gay bashing?

He can taste something bitter pooling on his tongue, venomous words aimed to inflict the maximum amount of stinging pain to Blaine's lack of care or interest in how he actually feels. Rather than speak, rather than try to explain, he fights for the reins of his self-control and hangs up. He wouldn't have held back if it had been anyone else. His parents would have been lashed with his anger and Clarington might have gotten a broken nose. He tries to tell himself that cutting Blaine off is better than spewing his torrent of hurtful words and that's why he switches off his phone. He's not sure he'd be capable of holding everything in if Blaine called back to berate him or question him with words he's not willing to hear

The sun has begun to peek over the horizon because there's a thin, pale light encroaching into the shadows of Aiden's living room. He has no idea what time Aiden and John will wake up. He's not even sure where they are and he'd rather not disturb them like he'd disturbed Blaine. He's pretty sure he can't rely on them to get him back to Dalton either. His wallet is at school and he has no access to more money which means no bus ticket or cab fare. If he wants to try sneaking back into school, he'll have to begin the long walk back with a pounding headache and his own miserable thoughts and fears for company.

He knows, despite not wanting to really admit it, that Blaine's right. He can't stay away forever. It will only make the possible punishment worse.

With a barely stifled grunt of pain, he learns to orientate himself in a dangerously spinning world. He folds the blanket as neatly as possible and leaves it on the end of the couch. He supposes it's time to face the music. He just hopes it won't be so loud that it reverberates through his pained skull.

* * *

_**~TBC~** _


	11. Chapter 11

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
**Word Count:** 6,467 ****  
Summary: Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. ****  
**Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:**  Brief sexual encounter between two underage, but consenting boys. A lot of subsequent angst and despair.

* * *

The walk to Dalton takes an inordinately long amount of time, more than enough for him to begin doubting his upbringing in Westerville and his knowledge of its streets. At least twice, he thinks he's walked in one big circle but he dreads turning on his phone to check a maps app and see the missed calls or messages that might pop up. He can't stop thinking about Blaine getting a nurse to contact his parents or the school. After the conversation they'd just had, he's not sure how convinced he is that Blaine is  _his_  friend, on  _his_  side. He's pretty sure if Blaine had run away from school and gotten as badly wasted as he had done, he'd be calling everyone he could to send out a search party so he can't really blame Blaine if he ended up doing the same.

He finally draws alongside the edge of Dalton's grand grounds, the fence that skirts around the property becoming his guide as he makes his way to the front entrance. The main gates stand open, as if awaiting his return and anticipating closing him into their iron embrace to lock him in for the rest of his days. It's almost enough for him to want to turn around and run again. Maybe this time he'll get on a bus or a train, travel to an entirely new state and start over. He's not sure how he'd do it, he's not sure he could cut ties with Lillian like that, but he's also not sure how he's meant to keep breathing when every inhalation is agony to his soul.

The corridors are quiet as he trudges through them. It's probably too early on a Saturday morning for most teenage boys to be awake. Sleep-ins were a luxury and breakfast always ran later on the weekends anyway, so the need to get up was greatly reduced. He imagines the various boys still lost in dreams as he silently creeps through the dorm corridor in an effort to avoid alerting anyone to his escape.

He's surprised – and grateful – when he discovers the door to his room is unlocked. He can only assume Clarington knew he didn't have his key and had anticipated his return, although probably earlier than this. He twists the door open and blinks at the lamp on his roommate's bedside table that is aglow, casting shadows around the room.

Clarington has a book splayed across his stomach, a pair of glasses resting on his nose. He watches the steady rise and fall of Clarington's stomach and assumes he's asleep. It's tempting to make a hell of a lot of noise or, better yet, suffocate him with a pillow, but instead he eases the door shut with the quietest of clicks and slides the lock into place.

He gathers up a fresh outfit because he knows his present clothes probably reek of stale alcohol and weed. The ritual of a long shower to erase the secrets of his nightly antics is familiar enough and he's grateful that Clarington doesn't suddenly stir awake while he's moving around.

If nothing else, the shower helps loosen the kink in his upper neck from his cramped position on Aiden's couch. He washes his hair twice in an attempt to remove the smell that might linger and scrubs himself thoroughly at least three times, wishing he could get inside his pores and rinse them out as well. No matter how hard he tries, he doesn't feel clean and when he steps out of the shower, he's not sure that he smells fresh. He feels like last night's leftovers and he's convinced he probably smells like the municipal garbage dump.

He re-enters the room and supposes he shouldn't be surprised that Clarington has stirred awake and discarded the book and glasses to his side table. His roommate now occupies his desk chair, probably because the hard wooden back is so uncomfortable that he won't return to sleep in it.

He ignores Clarington as long as humanly possible, refusing to look at him or position his body towards the other boy. He wants nothing to do with the conflicted feelings he'd had yesterday.

"I'm sorry," Clarington says finally, effectively breaking the silent standoff that had existed between them. Sebastian supposes it  _almost_  sounds genuine. "I didn't tell anyone that you were, y'know… _out_."

He stays turned away, as if looking towards his roommate might somehow weaken his resolve to give the silent treatment. He's not sure whether Clarington is making a double entendre or not and he has no interest in seeking clarification. The longer he can refrain from talking, the better.

"I mean, I wasn't entirely sure you left the school grounds but you were out all night so I guess I just assumed," Clarington says and Sebastian internally breathes a sigh of relief that the  _other_  connotation of 'out' isn't being used. He notices the slightest bit of unease bleeding into Clarington's tone as he continues, "You know you'd be in huge trouble if you  _had_  left school though, right?"

He's pretty sure something audibly cracks inside his body. He's doesn't know if it's from gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw snaps or if he has a fragment of bone floating through his hand with how tightly he clenches his fists, but something cracks.

So much for refraining from talking.

"And how much trouble would  _you_  be in for the shit you've pulled on me?" he yells, whirling on Clarington who looks satisfied rather than troubled. It only serves to infuriate him more that his roommate has been deliberately baiting him. "A school against bullying and you shove me against a wall.  _Twice_. The first time you're willing to blacken my eye on sight and the second time… The second time you- you-"

He can't even say it, his rage so enormous that he wants to shatter something with his fist. Clarington's nose is looking like a really good target right now. The frenzied inferno is working its way through his veins and making his body tremble.

Clarington fills in the blanks as if it isn't a big deal. "The second time I tried to kiss you."

" _You're_  not even bi!" Sebastian exclaims, although the argument sounds weaker than Blaine's healing bones, weaker than Lillian's breathing when she was on a ventilator, weaker than his mother trying to argue with him at Christmas.

"And  _you_  said you weren't gay," Clarington says bluntly. He finally rises from his seat, his eyes continuing to survey Sebastian carefully. It's unnerving. It makes his skin itch. He wants to scream and yell and disappear.

"I'm  _not_  gay," he repeats for the millionth time, but he's not sure who he's trying to convince anymore.

"You want to know what I noticed yesterday?" Clarington stalks around him, like he's corralling the storm of emotions back towards Sebastian, like he's edging around a cage with a lion inside that could attack at any moment. Sebastian's all too aware that his blood is pulsing in his ears. "I noticed there was a moment that you looked at my mouth and licked your lips. I think that was a moment you considered allowing yourself to take it."

Sebastian is pretty sure if Clarington gets any closer, he's going to break his neck and then peel his nose off his face.

"And then your eyes changed and you snapped and pushed me away." Clarington folds his arms over his chest, his grey t-shirt pulling tight at his broad shoulders and looking every bit the strong military brat Sebastian knows him to be. "I thought about that change in your expression all night."

Concrete fills his jaw and makes it impossible to open his mouth to speak. He's not sure what he'd say though because he has a feeling any words would just draw Clarington closer when he desperately wants them to remain distanced. He knows his roommate is smart. He knows his roommate is capable of observing things most others wouldn't see. He assumes it's something to do with the combat training that keeps Clarington alert to his opponent's vulnerabilities.

"So then I started wondering," Clarington drawls, stepping close enough that Sebastian is capable of feeling his radiating body warmth and he realises he's trapped to the spot because concrete has filled his feet too, "if you're afraid of coming out, or if you really want to get laid but won't allow it from a guy, or, and I wholeheartedly admit that this is a stretch, your heart felt like it was betraying someone else."

There's a smug grin stretched across Clarington's abnormally large mouth when he finishes, his eyebrows raised in a challenge for Sebastian to deny him. He's not sure where to begin with responding. What is he even meant to  _say_  to all of that?

"You don't know anything about me," he deflects. He tries to make himself stand taller and straighter, to look stronger, more defensive, more imposing against Clarington's attempts to get beneath his skin. He refuses to consider that it's a wasted effort because he's standing opposite someone who he knows was raised in a military academy.

"Not for lack of trying," his roommate says thoughtfully and Sebastian scowls, wondering if Clarington's 'friendliness' was really just a ploy at invading his trust all along. "So which is it? Scared, horny, in love?"

He tenses, his fingers curling by his sides. "Fuck you," he spits, wishing he could rip out Clarington's heart to check he even has one.

"If that's what you need to feel better," Clarington shrugs and it's so unexpected that it completely derails all of Sebastian's thought processes and his only reaction is to gape for several long moments.

He's still utterly incensed at his roommate's frank assessment of the complexities of his mind but every time he thinks he's got a grasp on the conversation, it flips over and changes course completely. He's usually the master of manipulating conversations and directing insults to targeted areas that will inflict maximum hurt. Somehow, Clarington's capable of doing the same, only he's doing it  _better_. He doesn't like feeling this unbalanced in an argument. He doesn't like being upstaged by Clarington.

"What's running through that mind of yours?" Clarington asks, apparently genuinely curious and yet the small voice in the back of his head tells him that it's all an act.

Sebastian's eyebrow twitches with how unaffected his roommate seems by this entire encounter, how completely unperturbed he is by yesterday's incident. It's a battle for Sebastian to stay composed and continue holding his secrets to his chest to avoid anyone seeing them, and yet Clarington manages to look like he doesn't have anything to be afraid of exposing. Sebastian can't afford to look weak. He knows he'll get eaten alive.

There's an itch that spans across his shoulders and tingles down his chest and arms. He'd much prefer to get drunk and high again and spin out like he'd done last night into endless depths of panicking that continuing this conversation. He wants to numb everything, maybe even manage to maintain a degree of permanency to having minimalistic emotions. Living in a constant drug daze doesn't sound so bad if this is the shit he has to put up with when he's not using.

Maybe it's because there's still lingering alcohol and weed in his bloodstream that he makes one of the worst decisions of his life. Maybe it's because there are parts of him that are still too hammered to make the right call. Maybe it's because Clarington is looming close and dangerous and he's desperate for a way to turn the conversation on its head and regain control.

At the very least, he'll lie awake struggling to make sense of what he does for hours, days, weeks, months,  _years_.

He rushes at Clarington before he's really thought through the action. He ducks away from his mouth but his hands scratch under the fabric of Clarington's shirt in search of skin. For now, he'll blame the anger for blurring the line between furious arousal and sexual arousal. Clarington steers him towards his bed and he ends up on his back. Once again, he fails to have control over a situation he'd originally intended to influence and his dislike of where he finds himself borders on hate and fear.

"So you  _are_  gay," Clarington mutters as he rucks up Sebastian's shirt without any hesitation, fingers confidently pressing into his freckled skin.

"And you're  _not_ ," he challenges, his annoyance – and his curiosity – flaring when Clarington only laughs.

He sticks to what he's familiar with, even though there's a bed this time. It's fast and messy as he unbuttons his jeans and pushes Clarington's head downwards and he avoids letting himself think too much about what he's doing. His eyes squeeze shut as heat zips up his spine in time with each lick, each suck, and he writhes and moans at the blowjob which is better than the ones he'd gotten from  _actual_  (closeted) gay guys back at Westerville High.

There's no  _way_  Clarington hasn't done this before.

Clarington manages to balance rough with determined patience, all about getting him off as quickly as possible without a hell of a lot of feelings behind it. He's grateful for the lack of intimacy because he's not sure he could handle it. He wouldn't know how to feel about it and it would mess him up more than this situation probably already will. He can feel something twisting in his stomach, a cool sort of nausea, and by the time his hips are arching off the bed and he's spilling down his roommate's throat, something that feels as heavy as a boulder and as frozen as Canada in mid-winter has formed in his stomach.

He pushes Clarington away when he's softened, too overstimulated to desire more. His body is still shaking with anger but there's also a pleasurable ripple that unfurls down his spine from time to time that he quickly starts to hate.

"Here's hoping you  _relax_  after that," Clarington grumbles, fixing his jeans and shirt before he climbs off the bed.

Sebastian doesn't want to see if his roommate is hard but the sudden abandonment expands the frozen feeling in his stomach until he feels cold all over, worse than when he'd shoved away the others after they'd blown him in a stairwell or locker room or behind a building while he smoked a much-needed joint between classes. In hindsight, it was probably a wonder that he hadn't lit their hair on fire.

He wonders if the blowjob was a test for him that he passed or failed, another elaborate plan by Clarington to catch him out and hold something above him so he falls into line. He begins doubting his entirely irrational decision from the moment he's left alone in the bed and only has his thoughts for company. It's like the terror of being invisible in his nightmare all over again. It's like being left to fall apart and no one notices.

He doesn't care that Clarington is still around when he pulls the blankets up to hide his trembling body. He uses it as protection in an attempt to avoid his insecurities splintering him apart.

* * *

He refuses to leave the bed for the remainder of the day.

He hears Clarington leave a few times, maybe for meal breaks, maybe for errands, maybe to give him space.

Whenever he knows he's alone in the room, he pulls the blankets over his head and allows himself to cry into his pillow.

* * *

He only emerges on Monday because he has classes and doesn't want to end up in James' office without an excuse for his absence. A sick sense of dread has curled into his stomach as he shuffles through the corridors with his hand clutching the strap of his bag and his eyes on the floor. He feels like his face is embossed with the story of what happened on Saturday, like anyone that looks at him will see straight through his flimsy armour of a blazer and tie and be disgusted by the actions he'd willingly participated in.

In the classes that he shares with Clarington, his skin crawls. He sits at the front to avoid having to deal with his roommate possibly turning around to stare at him. He's pretty sure he's not being paranoid when he senses eyes on his back. He attempts to keep his attention on the pages in front of him but he's been so upset all day that he hasn't been able to focus or use any of the techniques that Fincher has subtly taught him to use to make the words cooperate. Even with his glasses on, he can't read a thing. The pages of his notebooks are devoid of a day's disjointed handwriting. He's deaf to any lectures his teachers give about important content which he should probably pay attention to.

In Chemistry, he gets a quiz that he doesn't even bother picking up a pen for. He gets another in Literature that he entirely ignores and spends the time cleaning and cleaning and cleaning the lenses of his glasses. He knows Mrs Fincher is watching him from her desk but he blocks it out. Instead, his thumb and index finger rub the cloth over and over into the glass and he listens to the unsteady staccato of his heart against his ribcage and tries not to throw up as a result of the sick twisting in his stomach.

It's surprisingly exhausting to shut down like this. He'd had times at Westerville Junior High and High School that maintaining the façade that he was okay and Lillian was healthy became impossible and he'd wound up in the counsellor's office. It's different here. He's not sure what people know about him, if anything, and he knows he can't buzz Terry for a stash or a meet up every night of the week with the other guys to maintain a permanent state of emotional separation. The destruction of all his usual masks and coping methods leaves him feeling more drained than usual and is probably why he doesn't even try to apply himself to classes.

By the time the final bell rings, he's glad to get rid of boys who are too distracted by their own self-interests to notice or care how he's doing. Even if someone had asked him something, he would have brushed them aside. He trusts no one in this place, from the principal all the way down to fellow freshmen. He's not even sure he trusts himself.

He topples into his bed after removing his shoes, tie and blazer. The mattress supports his heavy limbs and he quickly cocoons himself within sheets and blankets. He can feel himself trembling again, something that's returned since Saturday. He's doesn't know if it's the anxiety or the disgust or the residual effects of getting so wasted on Friday night but he's aware that using again has unlocked the urge to do so again and again and again. Thinking he didn't have options before meant he was forced into sobriety…but now he knows there's a place near the fence he can scale. He's craved the bitter burn of alcohol sliding down his throat and the acrid smoke coiling in his lungs before he released it. He's craved the ability to make it all disappear for a few hours until he forgot and nothing hurt.

The door clicks and he can hear Clarington's footsteps. He can count the measured pace to the other side of the room and knows without looking that his roommate removes his blazer first and neatly hangs it up before moving onto unknotting his tie and – there it is, sure as clockwork – the release of a pent up breath from the day followed by the clatter of his shoes as he removes them and tucks them beneath his desk. It's almost disturbing how well he knows Clarington's rituals.

It's impossible to know what his roommate does after that though because for a pretty big guy, he can be as silent as a ghost when he wants to be.

It's probably why he startles so badly when a body presses in behind him, strong arms wrapping around the excessive bedding he's surrounded himself with. Somehow being held tightly amplifies how badly he's shaking. He's torn between wanting to shove Clarington away and accept the comfort he's needed for days – even if it's from the enemy. He hasn't been able to return Blaine's texts or missed calls for two days and he hates himself for it but he's too much of a coward to do anything about it. He hasn't done much of anything since Saturday.

"It's not in my nature to apologise this much to one person," Clarington mutters somewhere near his shoulder. He shifts closer, his knees slotting into the curve of Sebastian's through all the fabric and trapping him into being the little spoon. "I thought it'd help. I was wrong."

Despite the fact he can hear more honesty in Clarington's words than ever before, he's not comforted by them. He also can't figure out his own words. He feels numb, like he's just bathed in a tub full of ice for so long that his heart doesn't feel anything except cold. His stomach is churning so badly that he wants to expel the meagre amount of food he's eaten today.

" _Christ_ , Seb."

Clarington's fingers roughly pull the blanket from his face and the difference between the heated, recycled air covering his head and the cool air of the room makes the tears he'd been silently shedding feel uncomfortably sticky on his skin.

"Please just talk to me? I fucked up. I get that. I'm  _sorry_." Clarington squeezes him and Sebastian starts wondering if the pieces he'd carefully glued together to survive the day might just fracture apart under the pressure of his roommate's grip. "What can I do to make it better? What can I do to take it back?"

A sob gets stuck in his throat. The worst part about how he feels is that he can't even explain  _why_  he feels like this. He doesn't understand it any better than his roommate does. He thought the waves of despair that have been crashing over him since Saturday would have abated by now but instead they've dragged him out to sea, slowly pulling him downwards, drowning him in a place that's dark and lonely and cold. Rather than giving him pleasure or relief, it's like the blowjob had unlocked an avalanche of unpleasant feelings he has absolutely no capacity to handle.

Clarington tries to hush his cries at first, then he tries to rub his hand soothingly against Sebastian's arm as he cuddles in from behind again. When it continues to fail, he draws away and Sebastian thinks he's going to be left alone to try to handle these feelings and it scares the crap out of him. His roommate might have caused it but at the moment, his roommate is all he has to hold him together as he shatters.

"Be nice to him." Clarington's voice filters into his haze. Something cool and plastic is held against his ear and his roommate presses in behind him again, probably close enough to hear every word.

"Sebastian?"

His eyes flutter closed as tears flood them. He'll punch the shit out of Clarington's face later for this.

"Seb, what's going on?"

Blaine sounds so small, so afraid, so scared, so concerned, and it just breaks his heart even more than it already was. He tries to turn his face into the pillow and dislodge the phone but it's futile when his roommate is just as stubborn and adjusts for any movement he makes, even if it means practically crawling all over him.

" _Sebastian_ ," Clarington says, encouraging the phone to flatten against his cheek when all Sebastian wants to do is break it and his roommate's hand. Not necessarily in that order.

He sniffles and curls his hands into his chest like he's seen Lillian do after she has a nightmare, when he's the strong and brave protector from the monsters in her head. He wishes he had someone he trusted to take care of him like she did.

"Please don't hate me," he whispers into the receiver, wishing Clarington was nowhere near him because it's clear he's listening when the tightness in his hold increases.

"Hate you?" Blaine sounds so confused that it just makes him want to cry more. He starts wondering if he's losing his mind, if maybe he smashed his brain so well with alcohol and weed that it's actually stopped something from working the way it's meant to. Everything feels so overwhelmingly  _wrong_  and he can't breathe because of the pain pressing down on his chest. "Is this about Friday night?"

He tries to bite down on his lower lip to stifle the sob that threatens to spill free of his mouth. His mind is in turmoil.  _Is_  this about Friday night?  _Is_  it about the almost-kiss?  _Is_  it about getting drunk and high?

No, he's pretty sure it has to do with what happened when he returned on Saturday morning.

And he has no way of knowing how to tell Blaine that when Clarington is soaking up every word.

"Because if it is, I don't hate you," Blaine continues, his words slow like he's trying to choose them carefully. It's probably because he's shooting into the dark and doesn't want to upset Sebastian further. "I might not agree with your choices but we already established they aren't mine to make. I… I just worry about you in those situations with those guys you hang out with, but I don't  _hate_  you, okay?"

A muffled whimper of pain claws at his throat and Clarington immediately tries to hush him. If Sebastian closes his eyes, he could almost pretend it's Blaine cuddled behind him. Maybe the other boy would be able to feel the detachment of his limbs from his body and witness his internal organs shifting around his body like a lava lamp and hold him together better.

"Bastian, I don't understand," Blaine pleads, his voice softening over the line and ripping at a section of Sebastian's heart because Blaine's trying  _so_  hard and Sebastian's so fucking  _weak_  that he can't even respond to the simple questions he's being asked. "I  _can't_  understand if you don't talk to me." A pause, a breath, then, "Is it Lillian?"

Without knowing it, Blaine hits on something that has been racking Sebastian with guilt for the past two days. He's barely thought of Lillian when he's been so distressed. His selfishness, his misery, has made him completely incapable of thinking about her and he's so infuriated with himself that-

"N-No," he chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to stop the swirling thoughts before they suck him into an even deeper sinkhole. "I… B, I- I'm-"

"Hey, how about you just breathe right now, okay?" In an instant, Blaine's got that whole gentle caring thing going combined with a slight edge of firmness to his tone that he needs to hear to properly pay attention to the words. "I can say I don't hate you until I'm blue in the face but I think you're too upset to hear it, so how about we just focus on breathing?"

"O-Okay…" Another bubble of hysteria pops in his chest and a sob spills from his mouth into the phone.

Blaine starts talking, explaining a breathing exercise about counting inhalations and exhalations. His voice is calm and soothing and Sebastian gets easily distracted by the intonations and inflections instead of focusing on each breath like he's meant to. Yet if he keeps his eyes closed, he can feel the warmth of Blaine's honey eyes gazing at him, feel the gentle brush of their fingers lacing together, feel the security in his arms even though one is still painfully weak. It draws him away from the multitude of things he can't focus on properly until all he has is a vision of Blaine behind his eyes and the constant comfort of his voice in Sebastian's ear.

When he attempts to stretch his curled body out, Clarington's arms loosen around him and he's no longer being squeezed to the point of exploding. He wipes away the tears with the edge of his sheet and pushes Clarington's fingers off his phone so he can hold it against his ear. He doesn't need to be babied.

"How are you?" Blaine says when he finishes his spiel about breathing in and out, allowing Sebastian enough time to think through an answer that is anything but an answer.

"Do you… Do you remember after that first call I made when I was- And I saw you and you…you asked me not to think differently about… _you_?" he whispers, making the reference as vague as possible because Clarington is probably still listening and he's determined to maintain as much privacy about his life and Blaine's as he can.

Blaine takes a while to respond, probably because that conversation was so many months ago, possibly because he's been so obtuse that Blaine can't even- "Wait. You mean when you already knew I was gay?" Blaine says, his voice clearly puzzled.

He tries to breathe in again but pain slices through his torso, from his heart to his stomach. Panic throbs in the box he's barely been able to contain it in and he knows it's rattling around, wanting to get free again. "Yeah… It… Would you think differently about me if I… I'm… I've had similar thoughts?"

"Sebastian…?" His name is a surprised gasp over the phone and his eyes squeeze shut as he struggles with everything he can't hold in. Clarington's body surges to surround him tightly again and he hates how grateful he feels at the comfort it offers. "Are you…  _Seriously_?"

He chews on his lower lip and his head tilts downwards slightly against the pillow, as if Blaine's here and he can't meet his eyes. "I don't… I don't  _know_. I mean… How am I  _meant_  to know?"

Blaine laughs lightly and he tries not to wrinkle his nose in annoyance. "What do you think? What do you feel? What attracts you? What repulses you?"

Sebastian flails helplessly for an answer to any of the questions because he's still not certain and he definitely hasn't put that much time into thinking about it. He hasn't  _wanted_  to put that much time into thinking about it. It might make it too real.

"I think I always knew," Blaine says, his voice quietening. It makes Sebastian think he's drifting towards that place of hated memories and suppressed feelings he's sensed within the other boy before and he feels bad for opening it up. "I think my brother did too and it's why he's always been pretty accepting. I just…"

Blaine pauses and Sebastian hears the deep sigh over the line. He wonders if this is a conversation they should have had face to face or if that would have been too hard for both of them.

"I remember liking this kid in first grade, okay? I remember wanting to hold his hand and I remember our moms set up playdates that Coop supervised and I remember this one time, we were all making a chocolate cake and I leaned over and kissed his cheek because it had all this icing on it from when he'd licked the bowl."

Sebastian almost wants to 'aww' at the thought of it, but something in Blaine's tone tells him not to. Something makes him suspect the cuteness in the story wasn't going to last.

"He pushed me off the step-stool and told me I was gross. Cooper scooped me up and called his mother to collect him." Something wobbles in the middle of Blaine's speech but he pushes on. "The first thing he did when his mom collected him was start telling her about what had happened and I… I can still remember the look in her eyes as she grabbed his hand and pulled him away because she wasn't going to let her son like boys."

It's probably the last thing he needed to hear. He's already terrified of homophobes. He knows what happened to Blaine at the dance. He thinks that's an enormous part of why he's retreated even further into refusing to acknowledge how he feels. He's not sure why it was Clarington blowing him that made it impossible to deny any longer.

"Anyway, it reached a point that I couldn't keep hiding it from my parents, my brother,  _myself_ , and I didn't want to keep living with this stupid fear that they'd find out first. Their disapproval would be hard enough but to find it out second-hand? The embarrassment would be  _awful_." Blaine changes into being the cheery optimist he's seen glimpses of and he wonders how this boy has such tenacity and perseverance in a world determined to strike him down – literally.

"I don't have a story like that," he says, hesitating when he feels Clarington's hand settle on his waist. The sudden, increased closeness between them is a heavy reminder of what they did and what he wishes he could erase, but would it have changed his earth-shattering realisation after months,  _years_ , in denial? After all, Clarington's not the first guy who's gone down on him. "Maybe it's just a…another part of my teenage rebellion? Like what I do with the guys."

"Yeah, maybe it is." Blaine sounds dubious and distant, the optimism extinguished and replaced by someone who sounds quiet and hurt. He tries not to sigh when he realises he's messed up.  _Again_. "But um… If you dream about guys having sex more than girls and guys or…find you stare at the ass of a guy more than the chest of a girl or um…you…you've ventured into porn and…prefer to watch the gay stuff and…and just…stuff like that then… Well, it… I mean it's no guarantee but it's indicative of…of what you like?"

Blaine's stuttering is ridiculously cute and there's no doubt in his mind that Blaine's blushing and probably has his eyes squeezed shut. He's pretty sure his own cheeks are warm when he realises some of what Blaine's mentioned is what he's experienced and he wonders what Blaine's dreamt about, or whose asses he's checked out, or what porn he's watched. It's not a helpful distraction from the compromising position he'd dreamed Blaine in while on Aiden's couch.

"Do you think you could come visit me soon?" Blaine asks, so hopeful it hurts.

Sebastian is reminded of how he thinks Blaine's parents rarely visit and how lonely being in the hospital must be. "I'm not sure. I can ask about this weekend though?"

"Please do. I… I have that urge to hug you again." Blaine pauses before quickly adding, "If you'll let me."

It hurts to think that Blaine mightn't want to hug him as he grapples with his sexual identity but a tiny smile flits across his lips because there's no way he would be stupid enough to turn down one of Blaine's hugs. "I'd let you," he says and the slight curl of his lips stays when he hears Blaine's breathless giggle.

"Are you going to be okay in the meantime?"

It's the question he isn't sure he has an answer for. He looks down and then across towards the wall opposite his bed. "I'll do my best."

"You know where to find me, yeah?"

"Room 4803." It's not like he hadn't checked and checked and checked again that he had the numbers in the right order to spare himself messing them up.

"I  _meant_  pick up the phone, you idiot," Blaine says, his voice laden with an unexpected amount of fondness.

He presses his lips together to avoid smiling and hopes he can get out this weekend. He'd love to see Lillian again too. He desperately needs to hug the only two people in the world who truly mean something to him.

"Look after yourself, Seb," Blaine says gently, and then the line disconnects.

He drags the phone away and holds it against his chest like Blaine's warmth might somehow flee the device and thaw his wounded soul. He wonders if he can get one for Lillian and his parents wouldn't find out, but it'd probably interfere with all her medical equipment.

"I didn't know who else to contact," Clarington explains almost nervously. He recalls how much he'd wanted to knock Clarington out before but now he doesn't know what he wants to do. Part of him is grateful that someone else took the decision from his hands to contact Blaine and that Blaine was able to soothe him. Another part of him is still furious that Clarington blew his dick which subsequently blew out the rational part of his brain.

"There isn't anyone else you could have contacted, Clarington," he mutters, feeling the cut of disappointment and abandonment open again. His words fall somewhere between the two extreme reactions he's feeling, where some of his uncertain darkness floats away because someone has heard his words. It doesn't mean he escapes the pain of his parents' neglect though.

"Noted." There's a pause before, "You're still thinking of me by my last name?"

He doesn't understand what Clarington is referring to until… _oh_. He shrugs, figuring that he can't call someone by their first name if they don't fall on his very limited spectrum of trustworthy people.

"Do you want me to…like, leave you alone?" Clarington asks, one arm falling away from being curled around Sebastian's waist.

A war erupts between his discomfort at being held and his anxiety of being left alone. He doesn't like the idea of Clarington being pressed against him because his roommate is the whole fucking cause of this entire mess but he doesn't think he'd trust himself much if he was left alone. He's scared of fragmenting into irreparable pieces again.

"Stay," he decides, reaching blindly for Clarington's arm and folding it across his waist. He can almost feel the surprise radiating from his roommate's body as he settles against him.

"You know if you tell anyone I'm  _cuddling_  you, I'll snap your neck, right?" Clarington says, his voice low and laced with a clear threat.

He snorts and pats his roommate's hand, glad to see that there's at least some element of vindictiveness within his roommate still alive and kicking. "Hunter, my dick was down your throat two days ago," he says sweetly. "This is the  _least_  of your worries."

Clarington simply grunts.

* * *

_**~TBC~** _


	12. Chapter 12

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
**Word Count:** 7,633 ****  
Summary: Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. ****  
**Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:**  Nothing in particular for this chapter.

* * *

Sebastian manages to secure a tentative friendship with Hunter built entirely on their mutual unwillingness to whisper a word of what happened between them on Saturday and Hunter's unspoken acknowledgement of Sebastian struggling to process his complicated array of feelings and emotions. He feels forced to concede that having Hunter on his side instead of putting a fist through his face helps immensely when he struggles to concentrate during classes on Tuesday and Wednesday - his roommate has detailed study notes available for him when his head is on straight and he's willing to read them.

On Wednesday afternoon, he even dares to allow Hunter to cuddle against him again because he feels like he's on the verge of fragmenting apart. Whenever he had started thinking too much in class, he realised there was a tightness in his chest that made it hard to breathe. His hands had been shaking since lunchtime and made it nearly impossible to write anything down. He's not sure how Hunter had known he needed to be held together but he's silently grateful for it as some of his frantic heartbeat slows when he pretends Hunter's arms are actually Blaine's.

He loses track of how many texts from Blaine he stares blankly at though. As much as he desperately wishes Blaine was here, he's glad he isn't because he doesn't want to be seen like this. He eventually manages half-hearted replies simply to reassure the other boy he hasn't died. He doesn't hate Blaine, he doesn't want to appear cold and distant, but he's lost in his own head, his own tumultuous mess, and he can't offer Blaine the attention he truly deserves. He's also scared that he'll say or do something really stupid that ends up damaging his friendship with Blaine. Somehow avoiding him seems like it could cause less problems because at least he's not going to wreck one of the best things he has in his life.

Given his internal conflict, he supposes he shouldn't be surprised when he gets a little yellow note in class on Thursday that whisks him away from Biology and into James' office.

"Take a seat, Sebastian," James says as Sebastian enters. The principal is typing something on his laptop with two fingers, intently scrutinising the letters on-screen as if they'll snarl and snap at him if he stops or looks up.

Feeling immensely uncomfortable – and dubious the feeling would ever go away considering the power the principal has – he sits on the chair and taps his fingers in his lap until James is evidently done with whatever he's typing. He almost thinks that James makes him wait, deliberately increasing his anxiety over why he's been called here in the first place.

"Now then," James begins, closing his laptop and removing his glasses to look at Sebastian carefully, "would you like to leave the school grounds this weekend and see your sister?"

Sebastian feels himself grow very still, his eyebrows pulling together. He'd wanted to ask to leave this weekend, more to see Blaine than Lillian, but he'd also been unable to work up the guts to see the principal because he figured his distress would be all over his face. He was afraid that seeing Blaine might make him realise things he wasn't prepared to face just yet. It seemed like James was setting a trap by extending such an offer.

"Excuse me?"

James folds his hands together on the laptop in front of him as he leans forward in his seat. "I have received multiple reports regarding your behaviour in class this week," the principal explains, imparting the words like it's some ultra-special secret rather than an easy-to-acknowledge fact. Sebastian resents that the gossip mill at Dalton is just as alive and well as it had been at his previous schools and wonders if all teachers are just adults who haven't outgrown the teenage need to gossip. "I am aware of your sister's health but wondered if a change of scenery, a chance to reconnect with a loved one, may improve your disposition."

Sebastian spends a lot of time searching for the catch hidden in James' words. It all seems too good to be true, to just be thrown a lifeline out of this place without having to discuss what's going on inside his had. He's waiting for the pause and then, "But actually-". He's waiting for the cold laughter as James reveals it's all a joke. He's waiting for the alarm clock to ring and rattle him awake from this dream.

"Would handing you a completed form stop your doubts?" James asks, shifting some papers around until he finds what he's looking for. The sheet is exactly the same as last time with the exception of the date.

He stares at it before tentatively reaching for it. James doesn't move it away or crumple it up, doesn't start mocking him for ever believing he was worthy of such a thing. It's only when he realises how many doubts he has about the genuine kindness behind James' actions that he becomes aware of how thoroughly distrusting of people he has become. He wonders when that started.

"Thank you, Sir," he murmurs, drawing the page into his lap and gazing at it like it's embossed with pure gold. He's not entirely sure how to feel because it makes it real that he could see Lillian and Blaine this weekend and after the week he's had, he's not sure how much he trusts himself to see his sister and he's not sure he trusts himself not to fall apart in Blaine's presence. He's not sure he trusts himself to leave cuddling Lillian into his chest.

"Sebastian." The principal's voice is gentle enough that he looks up from the form. "If you're in need of someone to talk to then-"

"I'm fine," he interrupts, because he's had enough of  _those_  sorts of offers. He doesn't need anyone seeing inside his head. He doesn't need anyone having that sort of power over him. He stands and plucks up his bag. "Thanks again, Sir."

Somewhere behind him, he can hear James' sigh as he escapes the office and begins putting as much distance between him and the nosy principal as possible. He doesn't care that he still has two classes to go for the day. He goes to his room and hides under the blankets and refuses to budge until he hears Hunter return, hours later, and his roommate presses against him for another involuntary cuddling session.

* * *

The bus deposits him on the doorstep of the hospital on Saturday morning and he stares at the glass double doors feeling impossibly hopeless. He still hasn't decided whether he actually  _wants_  to see Lillian or Blaine but there's an expectation upon his shoulders that he  _should_ , that he  _will_. Hunter had learned he had a pass for a day out and all-but shoved him out the door earlier to ensure he left.

But now, standing in front of the hospital, he wasn't so sure that he knew what he was doing.

He treads a familiar path to Lillian's room first. It's not that he's deliberately avoiding Blaine but he hopes that curling up with his sister, running his fingers through her blonde hair, will offer him some calm against the storm that has raged inside him for a week. He almost wishes he could bottle it and wear it around his neck on a chain for when he gets so chaotic. He just hopes Lillian can exude enough good vibes that he feels more in control when he visits Blaine.

When the elevator doors open, he spies Therese sitting at the nurse's station with some knitting. He doesn't really understand the look she gives him, somewhere between surprised and disinterested, and he offers her a nod as he passes and slips into Lillian's room.

She looks the same as last time, pale and small in the hospital bed. She looks to be resting, her eyes closed and her breathing slow and even. He picks up her chart and traces over the letters to ascertain that her condition hasn't improved. He's not sure whether that fact is a relief or not. He supposes that knowing she could deteriorate but hasn't is the only thing that makes no improvement bearable.

He takes a long moment to stand by her bed and gently presses his hand against the top of her head. Her hair is fine and soft beneath his touch, a dark yellow after so many months without the sun having the chance to lighten it. Her little nose scrunches at the touch and he's halfway to removing his hand because he doesn't want to cause her pain when her eyes flicker open and her lips twitch into a smile.

"Sebby?"

"Hey," he whispers, bending to kiss her forehead as she carefully shifts over to make room for him on the bed. He nuzzles a kiss to her cheek as he slides onto the mattress, slipping an arm beneath her head while she snuggles into resting against his shoulder.

"Hi," she breathes, her fingers settling against his stomach and curling into his jersey. She's connected to so many monitors and machines, things beeping and blipping in ways he doesn't understand, but it's comforting having her in his arms. It's comforting knowing he can protect her, at least a little. It's comforting having her move so willingly into his embrace. He doesn't feel like a monster when Lillian is so trusting of him to take care of her. "What are you doing here?"

"I missed you," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. His fingers trace over the sharp angles of her cheekbone and jaw and wishes, once again, that she was healthy.

"I missed you too," she says with a gentle smile and her eyes close for a long moment. She looks so sweet and content as she relaxes against him. If he tries hard enough, he could imagine they're at home and pressed together on the couch because his sister just wants a cuddle while they watch the morning cartoons. "Are you okay?"

Her soft question surprises him and he tilts his head to look down at her. Her eyes have opened again and he can't deny there's a concern within their depths that shouldn't exist in the eyes of an eleven-year-old. Sometimes he worries about her future, when she's more mature for her years than anyone else her age. He's never entertained the thought that the odds of her having a future are miniscule.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he replies, sweeping his fingers through her hair and draping it behind her ears. If he had a better position, he'd probably braid it for her – although that might be a clear indicator to his parents that he'd stopped by. He's pretty sure his mother knows he'd learned to braid hair by using a docile Lillian as his model.

"You're quiet," she says, her breath a warm exhale against his jaw, "but your thoughts are loud."

His eyebrows rise at her observation and he presses another lingering kiss to her forehead. His sister is his guiding light and, he thinks, she always will be. A beacon in his darkest moments, always capable of seeing through the quagmire he'd gotten himself lost in.

"I'm-"

He bites down on the words a second before they flow free. He's not sure how to confess anything to Lillian and he's even less sure how contained she can keep it. With enough morphine, secrets slip past his little sister's lips too easily. Yet he's also not sure how long he can hold it in and if there's anyone he trusts to see him at his most vulnerable, understand his darkest thoughts, it's Lillian. There's a bond that exists between them that little could break.

"You know how boys like girls and girls like boys?" he asks, watching her pale brows furrow as she stares at him with such open trust and honesty that he nearly pleads for her to close her eyes because he doesn't feel deserving of it. She takes a very long moment to think through his words before nodding, long enough for Sebastian to start second-guessing himself about admitting what he's so scared to say. When her fingers twitch against his stomach, he takes a deep breath and blurts out, "I'm not sure if I like girls the way I'm meant to."

It hangs in the air between them for several long minutes. Sebastian can't decide if his heart beat feels like it speeds up with anxiety or slows down with the ridiculous amount of time that stretches between them. Lillian gazes at him, her expression unchanged, as she processes the words over and over.

"Do you like boys?" she says, clearly considering the words because her lips have pressed outwards slightly in the way that he knows is his sister thinking very hard about something.

He sighs and glances away, towards the generic painting of a vase with some colourful flowers spilling from it. He doesn't want to admit that he's scared of seeing his sister's reaction to his confession. "Maybe?"

There's a painfully long pause until he becomes aware of the blip of the heart monitor increasing and he looks down at Lillian with a mild flurry of anxiety swirling inside his stomach. There are tears in her eyes, stains on her cheek, and he reaches up to wipe them away. She turns her head away from him and it practically punches the air from his chest.

"Lils?" His voice cracks on the single syllable as he struggles to breathe through the terror that rips through him.

"You…" She sniffles, raises a frail hand to her face and haphazardly smears at the wetness before looking at him again. "You hate yourself so much, don't you?"

Her words distract him from some of the fear trickling through his veins. He frowns and partially pulls away so he can sit up and look at her easier. Her question takes him by surprise and he wonders if he should stop being so surprised by her wisdom and maturity at some point. "Lillian?"

"You don't… You don't get it," she says, a weak sob getting stuck in her throat as he insistently tilts her face back towards him. "You're my  _brother_ , Seb. I love you, no matter what, and you…you're so scared that…that you can't even look at me and I-"

He realises that she isn't rejecting him, that she isn't dismissing him or pushing him away because of the crisis that has racked his brain for the past week. Instead, she's hurt because he was scared of her reaction. She's hurt because he doubted how much his sister would stand by him after all the years he's stood by her. He hadn't trusted her and the bond they have as much as she trusts him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, scooping her closer into his arms as a tear spills down his cheek. His fear has been replaced by disappointment, a crushing sensation in his chest that feels like guilt because he wasn't sure how far his sister's love would extend. "I'm sorry, Lils. I didn't know-"

"I  _love_  you, dumbass," she mumbles, her fingers bunching into his shirt as they cling to each other. He's aware that she doesn't smell like she does at home, probably because her soap and shampoo are different, but underneath it all he knows she's still his feisty little sister who sees his vulnerabilities and patches them up with her innocence. "I don't care if you like boys, Seb. You're still my big bro who cuddled me after nightmares and read books to me until I was asleep. That's  _never_  going to change."

"It's not cool for me to cry," he chokes out against her tiny body and she giggles, high and breathless and a little broken in the middle. Lillian is his stars and moon, his rock that holds him down when he's afraid of flying free. Even if her illness has driven a wedge between him and his parents that he can't ever see breaking down, he's never been more grateful for her existence than he is right now.

He holds onto her until his hysteria passes, until he hears that her heart beat has slowed and he feels comfortable enough to lower her back to the bed and tug her into his side again. Even though he suspects they have matching green eyes rimmed by red, he feels calm as he strokes his fingers through her hair.

"So you like boys," she says matter-of-factly, peeking up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes that he thinks she's picked up from him. "Anyone in particular?"

He snorts, the sound sticking a little wetly in his nose. "I'm  _not_  going to confide my love life to you, Lils."

"But your love life is better than the soaps on the TV," she pouts, hand settling on his stomach again, warm and safe and familiar. " _Please_?"

He rolls his eyes and kisses her forehead. "There's no one in particular," he says, ignoring the brief, unbidden flash of Blaine in his mind as he says it. He's not sure how he feels about Blaine. He doesn't see Blaine as more than a friend. Maybe Blaine is someone who can mentor him to have courage with his sexuality and he can mentor Blaine to have courage towards standing up to jackasses that don't like him.

And yet he thinks Blaine might have stolen a piece of his heart that he hadn't been prepared to offer anyone else. Blaine had seen some of his weaknesses and cared to heal them as much as Lillian did.

"Promise you'll tell me when there is?" Lillian begs and he rolls his eyes, his smile fond when he lightly tickles her tummy and she squeals and bats his hand away. He pretends to go for her tummy again and she pouts and glowers at him, and he's overcome with how happy he feels having her with him, having her awake and alert even if it's just for a little while.

He lies down on the bed and Lillian curls into his side again. A hushed quiet falls over them, soothing and settling, as Lillian's breath whispers across his skin and he distracts himself by twisting his fingers gently through her hair. It's been a while since he's felt this level of calm, especially after the chaos of the past week.

"I love you, Seb," Lillian murmurs, breaking the silence in the sweetest way possible.

He smiles, turning his head to kiss her cheek. "I love you too, Lils," he answers, tucking her closer. Her nose presses into his neck and her fingers settle on his stomach. Together, they relax into the mutual comfort that flows effortlessly between them.

He stays with her until Therese looks in. Something flickers in her eyes once the door has opened enough to let in some light but he can't quite see it and he doesn't really know her well enough to understand how she thinks. If his own sister can continue to surprise him, then Therese is a mystery he'll probably never solve.

"Your parents usually stop by within the next half an hour," she says and it takes him a moment to register that she's offering him an out, a chance to avoid seeing them. She's protecting him from them and he wonders why.

"Thanks," he says, surprising himself with the sincerity as she closes the door.

Lillian immediately clings tighter to him, like a baby monkey attaching to its mother. "I don't want you to leave."

"But I have to," he sighs, one of his hands covering hers against his stomach. He doesn't want to leave her either. Not when she's the best he's seen in months. "You probably know they wouldn't take well to seeing me right now."

"What they're putting you through sucks," she complains, twisting her fingers into his and holding tightly to his hand. "You're  _family_."

He tries to smile but it's strained and he thinks Lillian knows that. He kisses the backs of her hand, her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, until she's giggling again but her eyes are still sad. "Keep getting strong, Lils," he murmurs as he regretfully untangles himself from his sister's winding limbs. She keeps hold of one of his hands, tugging him back to the side of the bed.

"Don't let yourself like, hurt too much with all those bad feelings," she says, squeezing his hand and gazing up at him with bright green eyes. "There's nothing you could say that would make me love you less."

He presses his lips together hard, attempting to fight back the tears that spring to the surface. She gives him a wobbly smile when she sees his expression and squeezes his hand again. He's powerless to do anything but squeeze it back and kiss her forehead before he lets go and forces himself from her side.

Therese sits primly at the nurse's station with Sinead, a junior nurse who looks like she's almost due to get off the night shift if the dark circles around her eyes are anything to go by. He pauses by the desk, glancing down the corridor towards the elevator as if his parents will magically materialise there with frowns and pursed lips. Therese tilts her head at him.

"Why?" he asks, the question laden with multiple implications. He can already feel the twitching in his fingers, the urge to run before the possibility of his parents showing up. His building anxiety at seeing them sickens him. Lillian's right, they're  _family_. He shouldn't feel this way.

Therese offers a smile he's rarely seen on her face and waves Sinead away. The young nurse offers him a tired smile and slouches off somewhere to give some privacy.

"Lillian was much stronger in the days after you left last time," Therese confides, folding her knitting in front of her. He thinks it's a sleeve to a sweater but it could also be a very long sock. "I know you love her deeply and I know your mother hasn't been in touch with you."

He blinks at her, unsure what to make of the words. Does  _everyone_  talk about things that don't involve them like they have nothing better to do? "How do you know that?"

"She still works here, Sebastian," Therese says and he grimaces, reminded again of how many people could see him and tattle on him. Apparently she reads the expression on his face like it's transparent and his thoughts glow inside his skull. "We're all aware of you being sent to boarding school, Seb. No one is going to tell her you were here to see your sister."

"You…won't?"

She shrugs and picks up her knitting again. "When you're older, you'll understand how much people gossip inside a workplace. You'll realise we know more about your life than you want us to and that a lot of people don't agree with what's happened over the last few years." Her gaze flickers up to him intently. "Especially in regards to you."

He's completely lost and her words leave him with far more questions than answers. His stomach churns with the implications that people know more about him than he wants them to know – what if his mother knows too? What if he thought she just knew about coming home buzzed once when in fact she knew it was a habit? What if she knew about the guys he'd hooked up with? What if she knew about his crisis this past week because of Hunter? What if she knows about his friendship with Blaine?

He wants to ask Therese, wants to demand what knowledge she holds about his own life, but she's looking at her watch. "You need to be going if you don't want to see them," she says, the needles clicking as she begins threading more yarn into the loops of stitches already made.

He'll have to ask her some other time, then.

"Thank you," he says again and she waves, either deflecting the appreciation or shooing him away. He wants to say more, has a strong urge to say more, but the fear of seeing his parents drives him from her presence and into the nearest elevator. It's not until it's sinking towards Blaine's floor that he allows himself the chance to breathe.

* * *

Blaine's room is empty when he arrives and, absurdly, he panics as he looks around and in the adjoining bathroom. When it's clear the boy is nowhere close, he sets off for the nurse's station.

"I was looking for Blaine Anderson but he's not in his room?" he says, his heart pounding in the vicinity of his stomach.

"He went for a walk through the gardens," the nurse says, his nametag spelling out  _B E N._ "If you go through those doors, you'll be able to follow the signs and find him."

He tries to smile and begins walking, though the doors and towards the gardens. He's seen them often enough from the windows of hospital rooms that he can find his way there. Calling it a 'garden' betrays that it's little more than a large courtyard with some potted plants, a handful of small trees, and a smattering of interspersed flowers, but it catches some sunlight and the weather is reasonable for this time of year.

He can't miss Blaine in a dark red cardigan with his dark curly hair. There's a walking frame beside him and he winces at it, even as he approaches the boy from behind.

"Hey you," he murmurs, touching a hand to Blaine's shoulder as he tugs a seat over. Blaine looks up from the book he'd been reading, a hazy look in his eyes as he emerges from the world he'd evidently been completely lost in.

"Hey." Blaine dog-ears the page and shuts the book, tucking it into his lap. He holds out his hand and Sebastian shifts the chair closer to tangle their fingers together. Along with the calm he still feels from seeing Lillian, holding onto Blaine's hand helps erase some of the past week's anxiety that everything would change between them after the phone call he'd made on Monday. "How are you?"

He glances down at their hands, admiring the way they fit together so easily. Blaine's skin was tanned and flawless while his was paler and dotted in freckles. "I'm okay."

Blaine squeezes his hand and he looks up to find hazel eyes looking at him closely. It makes his skin crawl. "How are you  _really_?"

A weak sigh escapes his lips as he looks away from the stare that seems to see all the way into him, into the parts that he shields from everyone and won't even confess to himself that he has. Hunter has accepted his silence the past week and offered him comfort when they lay together on his bed, but it's more out of necessity. He has no real interest in confiding anything to Hunter about how he feels. He's still uncertain about Hunter's motives.

Blaine, on the other hand… He can't lie to Blaine. Blaine has that same ability to pierce his armour as Lillian's questions which catch him off guard. He finds himself  _wanting_  to talk to Blaine because he  _knows_  Blaine understands.

"A mess," he admits in a whisper.

Blaine makes a quiet noise of satisfaction, his thumb brushing along Sebastian's knuckles. "Let's go back to my room," Blaine says, passing Sebastian the book as he rises to balance on his good leg. He pulls the frame towards him and leans against it heavily as he takes a shuffling half-step. "Come on."

Sebastian feels like he should get a nurse or an orderly but Blaine determinedly shows him how much he's improved, hobbling painstakingly slowly from the gardens through the corridor to his room. What could have taken Sebastian a couple of minutes at normal speed takes Blaine far more than fifteen, but the satisfied look on Blaine's pinked face is worth it as he nearly collapses onto the bed.

"Consider me impressed," he says and Blaine smiles, faintly tired around the edges.

"I'm doing my best," Blaine mumbles with an awkward shrug and a haphazard hand through his curls. Sebastian shifts the weight on his feet, wondering if he should sit on the bed or pull up a chair, when Blaine's eyes meet his and his arms open wide.

His uncertainty over whether their friendship would change fades away with the gesture. He steps closer, wrapping his arms around Blaine's shoulders while the other boy folds his face into Sebastian's chest, a strong arm and a weak arm surrounding his waist and fingers curling among the fabric covering his back. Despite the height difference, amplified by the fact Blaine is sitting on the hospital bed, it's a comfortable sort of hug when Sebastian leans his cheek against Blaine's springy hair. He can already feel it helping with knitting the pieces of his scattered heart together again.

"You aren't getting threatened or anything at school because of what you're thinking, are you?" Blaine asks, almost desperately, and Sebastian blinks down at him in confusion. "No one's harassing you?"

_Oh._

"I haven't… You and Lillian are….the only ones that know for sure that I'm…trying to understand it," he explains hesitantly. He doesn't know how hard Blaine had to fight to accept his sexuality but he certainly seems pretty confident with it now. Sebastian's probably too scared to tell his parents in case that's the final straw in cutting him off. He suspects Hunter probably knows, or at least is  _thinking_  he knows, and by extension he suppose Wes knows because Hunter and Wes are their own odd package deal. But he can't find it in him to hate Hunter, because his roommate has been comforting this week when he's been going to pieces.

Which is pretty weird in itself, all things considered.

Blaine's smile is shy as he nuzzles into Sebastian's chest and continues to hold him for a long couple of minutes. For someone who usually isn't particularly touchy with anyone besides Lillian, he wonders why he's so accepting of Hunter and Blaine's arms around him this week. He doesn't want to think he's falling apart and relying on others to hold him together.

Blaine pulls away only so that he can lie down. He leaves plenty of room for Sebastian to slip onto the bed beside him. At first, he expects Blaine to lie across his chest like Lillian had done but Blaine surprises him, pulling him closer until it's  _he_  who is being held against the chest of another. Blaine's fingers slide through his hair, his heart beating steadily beneath Sebastian's ear, and when those fingers move to rub circles into the back of his neck, he can't deny that some of the tension unspools from his shoulders, some of his thumping heart doesn't seem to hurt quite so much.

"What's going on?" Blaine says, his voice gentle and calm as his fingers continue that sinful circling against his skin. "Start at the beginning."

He knows he can't really start at the beginning, where he'd used guys at school for quick and sloppy blowjobs, nor can he explain what he and Hunter had done because he's not dared to press how his roommate feels over what happened. He's not sure if Hunter has told Wes and he's not sure what Hunter even  _is_. Has Hunter had a sexuality crisis too? As selfish as it might make him, Sebastian has been far too trapped by his own thoughts to consider those of others this week.

So instead he takes the easier way out, confessing to his imaginations of hooking up with faceless men, of looking up gay clubs to go to but being disappointed at their distance, of dreaming about men's bodies beneath his fingers rather than those of girls. He admits to getting hard when he watches gay porn rather than straight and assessing the attractiveness of males at Dalton rather than considering the other half of the population that's female and he rarely sees.

The heat in his cheeks fluctuates as he works his words, wondering if it's be easier just to say he's had his dick in the mouths of three people, but he gets through it and Blaine's fingers never stop smoothing circles into his skin and maybe it's the only thing that stops him unravelling at the seams. Hunter has a way of just…holding him tightly, surrounding him with strong arms and spooning behind him that helps in the short term but not really in the long term. Lillian seeks out his comfort but she offers her own in a way that perhaps only siblings can do. Blaine… With Blaine there's a level of intimacy there that he's not familiar with and he's not sure how to take, but he's too tired and been too anxious this week to pull away or ask for it to stop. He's not familiar with it but…he knows he likes it. He's craved it all week. It draws him together again rather than letting him scatter into shards sharp enough to hurt himself and those around him.

When he falls silent, his allocation of explanatory words exhausted, Blaine's fingers scrape through the hair at the back of his head and he nearly moans with how good it feels.

"Thank you for telling me," Blaine says quietly, his nose pressing at Sebastian's hair. There's a brief pressure against his scalp and he realises Blaine's just kissed his hair and it does something weird to his stomach, turning it upside down and burning a hole in it that feels like fizzing sherbet. "Are you doing okay at school?"

He's not, and he doesn't really want to talk about it, so he gradually moves the conversation away from himself and towards Blaine, listening to the other boy talk about the improving strength in his arm and leg and his hope to be discharged and go home. He's still unsure about what's happening next year and Sebastian has the words " _Come to school with me!_ " on the tip of his tongue but he refrains because he doesn't want to place more burdens upon Blaine's shoulders than he already has.

Ben the nurse enters after they'd been quiet for a while. He holds the lunch tray in his hands and deposits it on the movable table by Blaine's bed. Sebastian doesn't miss the way his eyes roam over each of them, tangled together on top of the bed, but he appreciates that the nurse keeps his mouth shut rather than make some homophobic comment. He's not sure he would be capable of holding it together if he did.

Blaine makes no move to eat and he makes little move to…well…move. He's pretty glad that Blaine's lunch is a sandwich and fruit cup and has no risk of going cold or spoiling in a hurry because he's content to lie still against the other boy. He can sense Blaine's fingers stilling, the deepening of his breathing, the slowing of his beating heart. There's a moment, an exhale that ruffles the tips of his hair, when he finally knows Blaine has fallen asleep.

It offers him some time to silently fall apart in Blaine's presence because he's been struggling for a week and for whatever reason, all he's really wanted is to be in much the same position he's in now. He feels safe and protected and it's only when he sniffles that he becomes aware of the tears that dampen his cheeks and Blaine's cardigan. Somewhere along the line, the friendship he had with Blaine has become something he desperately needed, held onto with a strength he hadn't known he possessed. He doesn't know if he…he's gay but Lillian still loves him and Blaine's still willing to hold him and it breaks something in his chest, maybe some of the anxiety and fear he's been trying to contain for a week that he'd be rejected by the two people he's closest to, that he needs to accept him for all his faults and flaws.

He presses his lips together hard to avoid letting any sobs escape, but there are still these weird little squeaks and whimpers that get strangled in his throat as the pain engulfs him. He spends so much of his time at Dalton forcing himself to hold it together because he never has a moment to himself that right now, hidden away in Blaine's hospital room, he knows he's splintering in a way he hasn't been able. Hunter might have wrapped him up in blankets most of the week but he still hadn't allowed himself to really cry. He doesn't think he's truly cried since first learning he was being sent to Dalton and he'd shattered the photo frame of his parents' picture and it's like months of being frayed at the seams now makes him unravel in Blaine's arms.

" _Hey_ …"

Blaine shifts on the bed, his hand moving from the back of Sebastian's neck to cup his face. He attempts to fight against it but he can't, not for long, and Blaine somehow manages to pull off looking both sleepy and heartbroken as his thumb wipes some of the tears away.

With some careful manoeuvring on the small bed, Blaine manages to wrap around him and tangle his fingers into Sebastian's hair and grasp at the shirt covering his waist. His face is angled into Blaine's neck and maybe if he wasn't so lost to his distress, he would have gotten distracted by the soft tan skin that presses against his nose and lips. Instead, he attempts to stifle all the half-choked sobs that spill free anyway as Blaine makes soft hushing noises against his ear and rubs a gentle hand up and down his back.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice raspy and weak from the tears still threatening to burst forth of the dam he's apparently dynamited. He can't seem to stop himself. The feelings spilling out are overwhelming.

"You don't need to be," Blaine whispers back, his lips a soft press to Sebastian's temple. "You're still my friend."

It scares him to realise how much he needs Blaine to keep his word in the future.

Blaine doesn't try to stop him from crying, but he does make soothing little noises from time to time. His strength, his support, gives Sebastian something to hold onto as he cries himself dry, until his eyes are itchy and sore and his chest aches from all his ragged sobs. He's exhausted, he desperately wants to huddle up with Blaine and sleep, but he's pretty sure some of the weight that has been on his shoulders for a week has slipped away and despite his blocked nose, he thinks he can breathe a little easier.

Blaine's fingers dance over Sebastian's cheeks to wipe some of the tears away and he breathes an unsteady sigh as he wriggles his face free to stare at hazel eyes. Blaine looks sad but somehow calm as well.

"How do you feel?" Blaine says, rubbing his fingertips against Sebastian's scalp as they gaze at each other. He feels like he could turn into Lillian from earlier – clinging desperately to Blaine like a baby monkey just because he's everything Sebastian never knew he needed.

"I…" He swallows and tries to get his voice to come out as something more impressive than the scratch that it is. "I'm… Thank you for being here."

One edge of Blaine's mouth upturns. "Thank  _you_  for coming to see me. I needed a hug too."

Sebastian has a feeling it's Blaine's way of deflecting the attention off his distress, so he accepts the out and lets Blaine take care of him. He breathes in the smell of the other boy's cologne and soap and shampoo and memorises the gentleness in his fingers and gauges the weight of his body so close to Sebastian's so he can pretend Blaine is cuddled with him in his Dalton bed sometimes.

He wonders if imagining Blaine in his bed is a problem.

"You saw Lillian this morning?" Blaine says, diverting the conversation completely.

"Yeah." He smiles briefly, remembering her support and love. "She was surprisingly lucid. She told me I was a dumbass."

Blaine snorts and Sebastian's expression turns into mock outrage when Blaine gives a slight incline of his head in acknowledging.

"Are you  _agreeing_  I'm a dumbass, Blaine Anderson?" He tries to firm his jaw when Blaine starts giggling but his lips are threatening to smile again.

"Weeeeell…" Blaine says, clearly considering the words as his eyes twinkle with amusement.

"You are an  _awful_  friend," he pouts, tickling at Blaine's stomach and making the other boy laugh and squeal and squirm as much as Lillian had done. He tickles Blaine until he's a quivering, protesting mess, begging for it to stop and he huffs dramatically and lets his fingers still against Blaine's panting stomach.

Blaine's face is flushed, his smile wide, and Sebastian can't help but feel a faint smile of his own cross his lips.

"Thank you for being my friend," Blaine says, his eyes unusually intense as he looks at Sebastian, as long stretches of his heartbeat echoes in his ears.

Sebastian sinks back onto the mattress when he doesn't understand what's going on and cuddles into Blaine again. "I  _think_  I'm glad you're mine," he muses, letting his fingers slip between Blaine's. "I mean, being seen as a dumbass by both you and Lillian isn't exactly flattery."

Blaine giggles, his thumb smoothing along Sebastian's knuckles. "I'm sure we both mean it as affectionately as possible."

Sebastian pouts and Blaine grins, which makes his pout fall away as he rolls his eyes and nudges a kiss to Blaine's shoulder. "Thank you," he murmurs, realising that he definitely feels better now than he has all week but there's something uncomfortable still sitting in his stomach and it makes him start gnawing his lip.

"You're welcome." Blaine squeezes his hand and Sebastian squeezes back, feeling distracted by his own thoughts. Blaine must catch the expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

"I think…" He releases an unsteady breath as he looks at Blaine, his brows crinkling together as he struggles with the feelings and the words. "Would you hate me a lot if I…needed to take some time to figure myself out?"

Blaine smiles, slightly sad but accepting of the words. "No," Blaine says with another squeeze of his hand. "Just so long as you don't forget that sometimes I need to talk to someone too."

"I won't," he promises, leaning his head towards Blaine and trying to soak in every ounce of comfort he can. "Everything just feels…really messy and I don't know how to…to make sense of any of it."

Blaine nods, dragging Sebastian's hand towards his chest. He can feel the other boy's gently beating heart beneath his palm. "I went through that too. That stage where you start to accept maybe you  _are_  different and try to understand the world around you." The pads of Blaine's fingertips drift over his skin lightly. "Learn from my experience though and don't shut yourself away too far. I understand that you need to do it but you have people who care about you."

Sebastian's pretty sure he could count those people on two fingers – he's a bit undecided about Hunter – but he nods anyway because Blaine has been through this and he'd be a fool to disregard the advice. Why make anything more painful than it has to be?

They lay curled together until the last possible minute before Sebastian had to leave so he can get his buses back to Dalton. He shares a lingering hug with Blaine, feeling incapable of properly holding Blaine when he just wants to sink into him and feel the warmth that flows so freely from his heart.

"Look after yourself," Blaine says, kissing his forehead before he draws away. He feels tired again, drained of energy, but in a good way. He's released so many negative feelings seeing Lillian and Blaine. He needed that so he could move on and continue with his day-to-day life at Dalton as best as possible.

He's blind to the journey back to Dalton. By the time he's stepping into his room, he feels fully prepared to collapse into bed and catch up on all the sleep he's missed worrying about how Lillian and Blaine would treat him.

"How'd it go?" Hunter asks from where he's paused by his desk, pen in hand. Sebastian wonders if he should find new hobbies for Hunter outside of reading, writing and studying.

"It was okay," he says, offering a muted smile as he takes off his shoes and flops onto the bed.

"Do you want anything?"

Sebastian suspects Hunter is asking whether he needs to be held because he'll fall apart again.

But he can still feel Blaine's hand tucked into his, the warmth of his breath on his cheek and the solid mass of his body near Sebastian's. He can still feel Lillian's nose against his neck and her lips against his chin. It's enough to keep him heated from head to toe, utterly calm in the phantom embraces of his friend and his sister.

"Just need to get some rest before dinner," he murmurs, his eyes slipping shut as he relaxes. Hunter doesn't move from his chair and Sebastian willingly allows himself to slide to the first serene rest he's had in a week.

* * *

_**~TBC~** _


	13. Chapter 13

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
 **Word Count:** 7,585  
Summary: Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. **  
** **Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
 **Warnings/Spoilers:**  Angst (perhaps not safe for consuming prior to the holiday period?). A very important note at the end of the chapter.

* * *

Sebastian wouldn't say he goes into exile. He wouldn't describe it as such, because there's a great many things he still does but…he's definitely aware of how he retreats from those around him in the weeks after he visits Lillian and Blaine in the hospital.

He still answers Blaine's calls and texts but the space he'd asked for so he could figure out his feelings is easily granted. The messages are sporadic, only every few days to share a random story rather than prying into how he's doing. He's grateful beyond words that Blaine doesn't pressure him into opening up but the other boy also doesn't drift so far away that he feels abandoned and unable to reach out to close the gap. He wonders if Blaine understands what to do because he had his own crisis and his friends and family hadn't been so supportive, but it hurts too much to think about for too long. He'll never understand why more people aren't drawn to Blaine simply because he's a shining ball of hope and optimism.

Hunter still helps him with homework because he struggles to pin the words down on his own, but there's a distance between them that almost borders on uncomfortable sometimes. He feels awkward in his own skin, stepping out of Hunter's way rather than really engaging with him. He doesn't know how to meet Hunter's eyes and his roommate is apparently unsure how to check he's okay without being blatantly demanding. It never gets confrontational but he's conscious of the itching he feels on his skin whenever Hunter gets too close and he's not fast enough in scooting away. He thinks he sees a hurt look on Hunter's face one time but he doesn't like looking too closely.

Wes still watches him at meal times like he's an animal in a zoo, a scientific study that requires constant and studious observation. He wonders if it's done deliberately, if maybe Wes is trying to unnerve him to the extent that his patience unravels and he rises to demand knowledge about Wes' thoughts while he stares across the dining hall. He wonders if Wes is waiting on him to take up the offer of help. He thinks Wes will be sorely disappointed considering he's been staying away from almost everyone for his own sanity as well as not getting into fights.

Mrs Fincher holds him back a couple of times to ask him how he is and if he needs any help with his homework. He brushes her questions aside with polite smiles and courteous responses before rushing away. Even his Chemistry teacher asks him questions one time after class when he'd had to stay back and finish the work before he left – a challenge which felt impossible when the page was filled with chemical symbols he didn't know and they wouldn't stay still long enough for him to decipher.

He starts to think someone has a direct connection to his brain and it's capable of broadcasting his thoughts to those at Dalton. Perhaps his skull is completely transparent and his feelings flash in multicoloured lights for all to see. It unnerves him how many people want to stare at him, approach him, question him. It makes him long for a drink to suppress the scratching he does to his arms when his skin crawls, makes him long for a joint when he'd much rather float away on a cloudy haze of technicolour joy.

He still has no clear idea of who he is or what he likes. He realises his rare dreams are usually filled with males rather than females, that he spends parts of his days imagining himself with a guy over a girl but… Is that enough to declare he's gay? Is that the smoking gun for his sexuality? He feels no closer to understanding it and he worries that maybe he's wrong and it's just a phase. He's terrified that maybe he'll end up on the outside of the social circles and get hurt like Blaine. All his internal conflict is enough to keep his mouth shut.

Spring Break rises up and passes by. Sebastian had a small piece of hope that his parents would call and invite him home but…his phone stays silent. He spends most of his week off wandering the gardens, staring at the clouds, and trying not to cry. He's not sure he could say he's  _homesick_ , not after this long, but their lack of contact feels like a flashing neon sign that they've given up, that they're distancing themselves from him. It cuts him down to the bone and leaves him gaping, wide open, for anyone to hurt with careless words.

"The Warblers are having an impromptu performance tomorrow," Hunter says casually, in the middle of helping him with his American History homework. "We rehearsed all Spring Break so this is sort of the welcome back to school. You want to come?"

His pen pauses above the paper, the words frozen to the page for a change. He blinks and removes his glasses so he can rub his eyes. "I told you I don't sing."

"It's not an  _audition_ , just to watch," Hunter explains, leaning forward to look at his work and then returning his gaze to the textbook in front of him. "It's not like you're obligated to participate in school things, but don't you ever feel terribly isolated?"

Sebastian glances towards his roommate, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. He's not sure why his limited circle of anyone he'd consider a 'friend' is so important after he's been at Dalton for months already and kept to himself. Sometimes he  _does_  feel isolated, but the thought that maybe there are homophobes within Dalton's walls prepared to beat him up or there are people that would pity him for Lillian's ill health or his parents' distance keeps him quiet and separated from those around him. Perhaps he's still being terribly selfish by not taking an interest in the lives of others around him but he feels as though his life is in enough turmoil as it is. Listening to the problems of others would wear him down and wear him out.

"Just think about it," Hunter says with a shrug and points at a spot on his exercise book. "You got that date mixed up, by the way."

* * *

Breakfast the next morning has this odd vibration about it. A few times, he checks his fork and spoon to ensure they aren't rattling against the table and wonders if he's being completely irrational about what he senses around him.

He wonders if anyone notices him peering at his silverware and thinks he's a freak.

Yet his cutlery is remarkably still so he starts scanning around him, trying to reconcile the behaviour that just seems  _different_  somehow. There's an anticipation in the air so strong he can practically taste it. There's a buzz in the air so insistent he can't ignore it. He doesn't understand what's going on and it infuriates him because he feels like he's being left out of a very important joke.

He just hopes he's not the butt of it.

Concentrating in his first two classes of the day proves to be a joke, but this time it's not his fault. The twitching excitement in the breakfast hall follows him into the classrooms and infects his classmates in a way that he can see is making his teachers exasperated as they call for calm again and again and  _again_  and he starts to wonder why they don't just throw the papers they're trying to teach into the air and give up.

He wonders if the education of a freshman is  _really_  that important or if their jobs are at risk if they don't get through requisite content. From what Sebastian's seen, the content flies by because usually the Dalton boys are so well behaved. It almost amuses him seeing his teachers look so unhinged. They would never cope at Westerville High, and he hadn't even gone there often enough to gauge the true level of insanity in those classes.

The bell rings and he packs up and begins the slow march to his next class because everyone converges into the corridors at the same time. It's probably this part of Dalton he hates most. He gets pushed and knocked, not because anyone is being violent towards him, not because anyone wants to express their disgust about his slow realisations, but simply because everyone is trying to move at the same time. Isn't there a way they could stagger bell times?

And then he realises he isn't even going the right way to class because he's been swallowed up in the swell of boys in blazers all pushing in a certain direction. He tries to shove against it because the last thing he needs is to be late – he doesn't need James waving loss of privileges in his face because he doesn't go to his classes – when someone's hand clamps around his arm.

"Don't fight it, man."

He squints at the boy who is possibly a junior, carefree blue eyes and easy smile. "And why is that?" he asks, trying – failing – to keep the distaste from his words.

"Warblers performance!" the stranger says and though it explains where he's going, he still doesn't-

 _Oh_.

The Warblers performance.

That Hunter had invited him to.

Was  _that_  the reason behind the ongoing disturbances throughout the day?

He stops resisting the push-pull of everyone around him until they round the foyer that connects the dorm wing and the academic school wing. Standing in something that is easily recognised as a well-practised formation are a group of boys on the stairs.

He easily spots Hunter, higher up the curve of the stairwell with an impassive face. Wes is around the middle, his face as still as stone. He's not sure he's ever seen him anything other than assessing or animated. He wonders how they manage to stay so calm, so focused, when boys are spilling in from all directions and spreading out to ensure they get a spot and they can see. A few have their phones out to take photos and videos.

He's not sure if there's a cue he misses but somehow a hush overcomes the audience. He imagines most of the student body has assembled and after the constant murmur of anticipation all day, he's surprised at how quickly silence blankets across them. All eyes are on the boys interspersed on the stairs. It's almost like no one in the audience dares to breathe, frozen in place with their eagerness.

It might be a cliché to think it, but Sebastian's pretty sure he'd hear a pin drop.

Somewhere, a hum starts. It's low but unmistakable when everything else is so still. It travels up the staircase, like the boys in blazers light a sound candle and pass it along. A single hum turns into fifteen, harmonising and blending, twisting into something he's not sure he's heard before. Public school choirs had never interested him much and any time he knew there was an assembly in the past few years, he'd tended to head outside for a smoke to help him get through the rest of the day.

The hum is extinguished and in the void left behind, he's pretty sure everyone is even more still, more silent, more on edge for what's to come.

Someone starts to "ah" and it gets picked up among the group, their mouths opened, none of them looking at each other and – despite how much he wants to tease Hunter for  _singing_  – he's impressed at the amount of rehearsing which has probably gone into this. Faintly, or maybe not so faintly, he hears a beat and he scans up the group until he sees a boy halfway between Wes and Hunter, hand over his lips and Adam's apple leaping.

A boy at the bottom of the steps, one he's seen Wes talk to at his dining table a lot, takes half a step to the right and begins singing the words.

 

>  " _Another day has gone, I'm still all alone_.  _How could this be, You're not here with me._ "

His voice carries above the other Warblers who vary between "ooh" and "ah" and sway back and forth on the spot. It's a song he recognises instantly because anyone with an interest in popular music of the last twenty years should be well-versed in Michael Jackson in his opinion. He appreciates the way they've reworked the original, lowering it to a range which is comfortable for all the boys through to young men, and the way they're all in perfect unison without a glance at one another.

 

>   " _Every day I sit and ask myself, How did love slip away, Something whispers in my ear and says: That you are not alone."_

The introductory verse ends and all the boys join in on the bridge, moving down the stairs in simple synchronisation and spanning out into a space that gets created for them by people moving back. It's harder for Sebastian to see them because he's not the tallest freshman or Dalton student  _and_  he's a freshman so he has no seniority or superiority to elbow people out of the way, but he strains on his tip-toes to see the group sway, move side to side, step around each other.

 

>   " _Just the other night, I thought I heard you cry, Asking me to come, And hold you in my arms."_

Mostly he just listens to the song, whispering the words of the second verse to himself because it resonates with him how applicable it is to Lillian. Someone else has taken the lead this time, someone he's not that interested in actually seeing, because he's too lost in his thoughts of how he's protected Lillian in the past. He thinks of the times he's held her when she's cries after a nightmare, listening to her detail the latest time her teddies attacked her or her schoolwork was too hard or, most painfully, when she'd died and been a ghost and watched everyone. He thinks of the times she sneaks into his bed simply because she's been scared to sleep alone or the times she's picked up that he's so tired and hurt, straining under the burdens of his parents' disinterest and his poor habits, and cuddles into him with promises that she still loves him until he falls asleep with her pressed into his chest.

 

>   " _You are not alone, I am here with you, Though we're far apart, You're always in my heart."_

When the Warblers get to the chorus the final time, he's humming along as the words sink beneath his blazer, under the thin cotton of his shirt, deep into his skin. It hurts to relate the words to her and yet somehow the way it's being sung is freeing, like it's a prayer that he can hold onto. He knows she's not there with him and he knows he can't be with her at the hospital whenever he wants to be now that he's been sequestered away into the walls of a boarding school, but he still carries her within his heart. He still knows that no matter where he is, he's Lillian's older brother and he'll never stop loving and protecting her.

By the time the song draws to a close, he ducks his head to wipe the stain of tears lingering on his cheeks that he'll refuse to admit were ever there and applauds along with everyone else around him. Some boys are cheering, others whooping and hollering, others with fingers between their lips and whistling loud and shrill. He wonders if this is why Hunter performs, if there's a certain buzz that lingers on your skin and makes you so giddy you want to do it all again – because that's how he feels. He wants to hear more. He wants to hold onto that moment he'd felt so connected to his sister even though she's miles away.

The bell rings and some of the crowd begins to disperse. Instead of allowing himself to be carried along on the current, he squeezes through other boys until he's in front of the Warblers who are congratulating each other with high-fives and hugs and fist-bumps and he suddenly feels completely out of place standing there and loitering. It's almost reminiscent of when he'd first approached Terry and asked if he could have a drink. He could still remember Terry's howling laughter.

"Seb!" Hunter moves towards him, his arms outstretched in a hug that Sebastian narrowly manages to avoid and Hunter seems to realise his mistake because he breaks into some sort of awkward-excited wave thing. "Wasn't that awesome?"

He tries to pretend that Hunter's move was totally normal by giving a sarcastic wave back. "I just thought I'd congratulate you," he says, his eyes shifting from Hunter's to over his shoulder where Wes is openly staring at them. He's tempted to give him the finger just to see what the reaction would be.

A grin spreads across Hunter's mouth. "Oh? So you even  _liked_  it?"

"I admit no such thing!" he protests, but he's pretty sure that the time he's spent with Hunter over the past months has made his enjoyment of the song transparent. "MJ was a good touch," he concedes.

"That was all David's doing. He's obsessed," Hunter says, indicating the boy that had begun the song and is now talking with Wes, their heads bowed together. He wonders if there's any conversation these guys have which doesn't appear conspiratorial.

He turns his attention back to Hunter, who has a slight frown on his face as he looks past Sebastian's shoulder. "Well, it's a good artist to be obses-"

A heavy hand settles on his shoulder and it's so unexpected that he flinches and twists out of the grip to stand beside Hunter. It takes him half a second to see James with his arm still outstretched.

"Sir, we're getting to cla-"

The principal waves away whatever is being said because his focus is fixed on Sebastian and there's something in those eyes that is too guarded, too cautious. His lips press together for a moment as a small frown appears between his eyebrows, as if he's not sure what to say. Or maybe it's  _how_  he needs to say it.

And without a word being said, he understands.

His stomach plummets straight through the marbled floor.

He grabs onto Hunter's arm because he's the closest thing available and he knows his roommate is looking at him with alarm. Why wouldn't he? Nothing has even been said but Sebastian just  _knows_.

James inclines his head slightly, confirming everything which is screaming through Sebastian's head. "There's a cab waiting for you outside," he says, stepping towards Sebastian who automatically steps back as denial crashes through him. Any sort of contact will make this real. He doesn't want the principal trying to comfort him because his touch might just rip him apart. "She isn't  _gone_ , Sebastian, but you need to get there."

He doesn't understand because he just wants to cover his head with his hands and rewind time by ten minutes when he'd been thinking about her. God, was that some sort of sick omen? Was it karma's way of getting the last laugh? First, he resents his sister's birth because she steals the shine of being an only child from him and then she gets so sick that he gets forgotten about completely.

But none of that matters because he's still staring at James in disbelief, in fear. His mind is in absolute chaos and he's pretty sure his stomach wants to revolt on him. Are his hands shaking? He's not sure. He can't be bothered checking.

"Seb?" Hunter asks, a hand covering Sebastian's that he's too numb to really feel.

It's been more than three months since he was dropped at Dalton and left to fend for himself. He knows his parents will be there and he's wholly unprepared to see them.  _Especially_  not like this.

"Can he come too?" he whispers, croaks, because the words of the song are still echoing through his head and he doesn't want to go to the hospital alone. He needs someone to stand between himself and his parents and he needs someone to call Blaine for him because there's no way he can do it himself. As much as he's wanted to take Hunter's head off in the past, he needs him to stay because he's got no one else right now.

James turns his attention to Hunter, his eyes dropping to the way they're holding hands but he refrains from saying anything. "It's highly unorthodox," the principal says slowly and Sebastian wants to shout  _CAN WE STOP WASTING TIME?_  loud enough to pierce eardrums several states over.

"Sir, if he wants me to be there, I'll sacrifice my weekend privileges for a year," Hunter says, so fucking earnest and honest that Sebastian's eyes nearly bleed. His roommate has put him through hell on numerous occasions but he's so damn  _willing_. Sure, they've been tentatively repairing things but that doesn't mean they're  _that_  close.

James sighs and nods. "Very well." He leans towards Sebastian and makes contact with his shoulder even though Sebastian doesn't want it. "Look after yourself," he says sternly, his eyes looking directly into parts of his soul he'd prefer no one saw, before the principal dismisses them.

He starts running through the corridors, following Hunter's call of directions when he nearly veers the wrong way to the front door. He knows the other boy isn't far behind him and is probably hopelessly confused but he's panicking and he doesn't want to do this, he can't do this. He doesn't know  _how_  he's meant to do this.

When he reaches the main entrance, he stumbles to a stop. His breath comes in heaving, shuddering pants and tears are already trailing down his face that he's not sure will stop for at least a few years.

"Sebastian?" Hunter approaches him cautiously, fingers pressing into his upper arms. "Come on. I'm right here with you."

"I c-can't," he whispers, an echo of the words he'd said at the park when he'd been too high to know what he was saying. He wants to put himself into a coma of his own from too much alcohol. His sides are splitting apart with the hurt and pain and fear spreading through him. He's waited for this for four years but nothing is as devastating as it actually happening.

"You can't what?" Hunter says, his voice sounding tinged with urgency as his hands move to cradle Sebastian's head in a manner which is far too intimate but he's too weak to fight it because his whole world is crashing down around him. "What's going on?"

"M-My s-sister," he chokes out, a sob strangling in his throat as he wipes at his eyes and tries desperately to look at Hunter to make him understand what's happening. "She… She's s-s-sick, Hunter."

And though Hunter continues to look completely baffled, some sort of comprehension dawns in his eyes as he wraps his arms around Sebastian's body and holds him tightly. He sinks into the touch, uncomfortably familiar and probably the only thing that will stop him falling to the floor.

"I'll stay with you as long as you need me to be there," Hunter promises, hushed against his ear as a hand smooths up and down Sebastian's back. "You want me to call Blaine?"

He tucks his face against Hunter's shoulder and lets the fabric of the other boy's blazer soak up a few of his tears. He can feel how badly he's shaking because Hunter is so steady. The offer to call Blaine is…is everything he needs right now. Hunter is useful but Blaine is…Blaine is just everything. "P-Please," he breathes and Hunter squeezes him briefly before he lets go.

"Come on," Hunter says, a picture of composure and calm as he presses his hand to Sebastian's shoulder blades and guides him from the school to the waiting taxi.

They climb into the back and the cabbie puts it into drive. He suspects the driver already knows where to go. He's not sure he could have said he needs to go to the hospital. He cries into his hands for the duration of the trip, an inconsolable wreck as Hunter alternates between trying to hush him and rub his back.

"You got your phone on you?" Hunter asks when they're a couple of blocks away from the hospital.

He nods, his fingers fumbling through the front pocket of his bag to retrieve it. "He… He's h-here," he confesses, struggling with the touch screen when his fingers are so wet.

Hunter's hands close around his own, freeing the phone from his grasp. "He is?" his roommate says, as light and conversational as possible. It's a distraction but it makes him hurt. "Should I get him to meet us…wherever it is we're going?"

Sebastian shudders in a deep breath at the thought. He's not sure how mobile Blaine is and he's not sure how willing he is to have the other boy there as a witness to his internal destruction. Yet he's also not sure how Hunter could call Blaine, explain the fragments of the situation that he understands, and Blaine stays away.

He shrugs helplessly because he's not even sure where they're going. Is Lillian… Is she… Will she still be in the PICU? James said she wasn't  _gone_  but what did that even  _mean_?

"Tell h-him…" He hiccups and struggles to suck in a few breaths of air until he can speak past the rampaging emotions pouring through him. Hunter's hand holds onto his shoulder firmly. "Tell h-him you'll t-text when I… I know w-where she i-is b-because I know h-he'll want t-to c-come."

"Will I?" Hunter says with an arched eyebrow and a slight tilt to his lips, but his fingers are already moving over the screen and Sebastian idly wonders if he should put a lock on the thing to avoid it getting hacked. He's never been close enough to anyone to be worried about his phone being looked at and his parents have never cared to look at it, but there are probably secrets on there he doesn't want Hunter to find.

"Blaine? Hi- Yeah, Hunter-" There's a pause in which he can hear the faintness of Blaine's intonations speaking through the phone but his words are indiscernible. "He's- No, okay, he's not but it's not- No- Something about his sister?"

The barely contained hysteria pops within him again because it's happening, it's  _real_ , and he covers his mouth to stifle the sob.

"He said I'll text you when we- Yeah, hold on a sec." Clarington squeezes his shoulder, demanding his attention for a moment. "He wants to talk to you. You up to it?"

 _No_ , he wants to scream but he takes the phone anyway and holds it to his ear. It feels like it's clattering against his cheek because he's trembling so badly.

"…B?"

"Seb, I'm  _so_  sorry." Blaine's words wash over him quickly, like he's trying to get them out as quickly as possible because he doesn't have very long. Like Lillian. How long does she have? "The second you know where you're going, text me and I'll get there, come hell or high water."

"I- B-Blaine, w-what i-i-if-"

" _Stop_ , Seb," Blaine interrupts, but there's no way he could have finished the sentence anyway. "Stay with Hunter until I can get there, alright? We'll work it out.  _We'll_ take care of you."

And something in that makes it very clear to him that Blaine knows his parents probably won't be any use in supporting him. They'll probably be too lost in their own grief to notice his own. Yet Blaine realises that Sebastian had brought Hunter too and is including his roommate as a source of comfort. He has to admit that as much as he hated Hunter when he'd first arrived at Dalton, he's glad he'll have him as a buffer before Blaine manages to get to him. He'll need Hunter to guide him around because he'll be blinded by the tears and the panic.

"Tha-a-anks," he says, whimpering when another wave of fear and hurt swallow him whole and Hunter tries to hush him with a hand pressed to his upper arm.

"Just keep breathing, Seb," Blaine says gently but breathing seems to be the most impossible thing in the world. "We'll get through this. I'll see you soon, okay? Can you pass the phone back to Hunter for me?"

He nods even though Blaine can't see it and returns the phone to Hunter's hands.

"Hi aga- Yeah?"

There's a long silence during which Sebastian can hear the buzz of Blaine speaking but though he strains to hear, he can't make out anything. He almost wishes he'd turned the volume up just so he knew what was being said. He doesn't like being left out of things. Especially when there are enough secrets, enough unknowns, swimming through his head right now and leaving him floundering around with no idea where he's going.

Maybe Hunter reads his mind because his hand brushes against Sebastian's knee and squeezes it. He wants Blaine's hand but he'll settle for looping his fingers through Hunter's until the other boy, the one he really wants and needs, can get to him. He can feel Hunter stiffen against the gesture but he says nothing and he doesn't draw away and Sebastian lets himself be distracted by the touch and uses it to tie himself down before he whirls out of orbit.

"Alright, I got it. Thanks." Another pause. "Yeah, we'll see you soon."

Hunter withdraws the phone from his ear and holds it out to Sebastian. The screen is dark, the call ended, and he stares at it blankly for a moment.

He realises, somewhere between numbly and overwhelming levels of pain, that  _they_  still didn't call  _him_.

Having Hunter with him suddenly became far more necessary than he'd realised standing in front of James.

He takes the phone back and quickly looks at his missed calls and texts, but he has none from the people he would have expected to hear from in a situation like this. He wonders who they'd called – was it the school? was it James directly? – but it hurts too much to think about because it wasn't  _him_  and that's all that mattered. He'd counted on them to contact him when things went to hell and they hadn't and he would  _never_  forgive them for that, regardless of Lillian's outcome.

The cab pulls up outside the hospital and the driver makes no move to ask them for money. He's been oddly silent throughout the entire trip actually, but Sebastian's too distressed and distracted to comment on it. Hunter doesn't make a move beside him, perhaps thinking that he's giving time for Sebastian to steel himself when really he's veering away from denial and straight down the path of anger that will put his fist through his father's face and paint a slap to his mother's cheek as soon as he sees them.

"Seb?"

Sebastian looks down at their hands and notices how tightly Hunter's holding it because he's shaking so badly. "Don't… D-Don't let go of m-me," he says because until Blaine gets there, he'll be a loose cannon and he doesn't trust himself in the slightest. He knows Hunter is bigger and stronger than him. Their studying sessions, when Hunter spends more time studying his expressions than their homework, should mean his roommate is capable of shielding him from the fight he's itching to have.

"No way," Hunter promises, a hesitant smile on his lips.

He releases an unsteady sigh, gathers up his bag, and shifts out of the car with Hunter never lessening the grip of his hand. The hospital looms above him and he feels cold and sick just looking at it, but he doesn't know how bad it is and maybe his sister doesn't have very long and he's still wasting time because he's too chickenshit to walk inside.

Hunter takes the initiative and tugs him through the doors. They approach the admin desk and he can tell from the way Hunter straightens his back that he's going to be the no-nonsense, demanding-information type which Sebastian needs when he's not sure he'll be able to find his voice until after he's hit both his parents in the head with the corner of a brick.

"Excuse me, can you-"

"Sebastian?" He glances up at the sound of his name. Marie sits behind the counter. She's this old secretary on the front desk that used to give him lollipops when he was a little boy and his mother would take him to work. He offers her a pained smile and she gives him a sympathetic one in response. He can tell she knows just from the way she looks at him. "We've been expecting you. She's in the OR. Your parents are on level two in the waiting room."

He stares, and stares, and stares, and stares. Hunter waves a hand in front of his face and it takes him a while before he blinks and focuses on it. Marie has moved around the counter and gently grasped his elbow. Despite being a secretary at the front desk, he's pretty sure she has medical training. He probably looks like he's on the verge of collapse. He definitely feels it.

"Do you need something, Sebastian? Some coffee?" she asks, drawing his attention towards her with an index finger to the side of his face. Hunter's hand stays trapped within his own. He wonders if he'll ever be able to let go of it.

"I-" His voice creaks out of him and she squeezes his elbow encouragingly. "She's not-?"

"I don't have the latest updates," Marie says, her eyes darting over his shoulder and waving someone out of the way. "Your parents will be able to tell you more. Your friend-?"

"Hunter, ma'am," his roommate says politely.

"Hunter can take you to level two. You know where to go from there, don't you?"

And she's so  _nice_  that it makes him want to vibrate apart until he's crying again. He doesn't understand what's going on at all but Marie gives Hunter directions to the lift when he seems too incapacitated to take any of it in. While they wait for the elevator, he takes out his phone and opens up a new text to Blaine for Hunter to type in the details. His hands are far too wobbly to be accurate. His spelling can be bad at the best of times when he can't properly focus on the letters but he's not even sure autocorrect would understand his garbled attempts when his hands are shaking this badly.

The elevator doors open and before he's even processed what's happening, a pair of arms have embraced him. He looks down and notices the green scrubs, the light brown hair, and it's not until she steps back that he realises it is Therese.

He can feel Hunter's gaze on him, demanding answers he has no intention to give. Maybe Therese looks like a mother with the way she's just held him. Maybe Hunter thinks Sebastian has the most amazing parents ever.

"Do you want me to take you up?" Therese asks, her fingers reaching up to wipe at his tears with a folded hanky and he frowns and turns his head away from the motherly gesture.

"I- I c-can do i-i-it." He wishes it sounded more convincing but he's having a hard enough time convincing  _himself_  right now. Convincing other people was going to have to wait.

"I meant-" She visibly suppresses a sigh and glances at Hunter before looking back at Sebastian. "I  _meant_  because of them."

 _Oh_.

Hunter squeezes his hand, maybe to remind him he's there, and it draws his attention to the other boy. There aren't any forthcoming questions and Sebastian has no explanations. He notices that there's barely a hint on Hunter's face about what he's thinking. Perhaps the military training has kicked in because of all the emotions Sebastian is feeling and Hunter can't abide tears so he's transformed into an unfeeling robot.

He realises that even though he needs Hunter there as a physical presence, to block his parents or to keep him safe from himself, Sebastian has never explained any information to him. Sebastian has always been deliberately obtuse about his parents, his sister, his  _family_ , and he doesn't have the time, patience or ability to fill in those details right now. Sure, Hunter knew of Blaine and that he had a profound ability to comfort Sebastian when he'd been in mental meltdown, but he didn't know anything  _about_  Blaine. Hunter's lack of knowledge would make it easy to misunderstand everything going on and therefore easier for his parents to send away the stranger and  _then_  what did Sebastian have?

Therese knew all that and more. She could be the person to use words that would get through to his parents without offending them. She could be gentle with him when he was upset. She could explain all the complicated medical stuff going on that he didn't understand. She could be the verbal and emotional intermediary between him and his parents given all the problems they'd had recently. He was reminded of how many questions he still had for her. What did she know? How did she know it? Was everyone in the hospital aware of it?

Even in his panic and distress, he manages a fragment of logic that sees him looking at Therese and giving her a small nod that's weighted with everything his mind has been turning over since James had found him at Dalton. She touches his shoulder, sweeps her fingers along the ruffled strands of his hair, and pats his cheek.

"We'll take care of you," Therese says, an echo of Blaine's words, and he looks at her, wondering who she means. Does she just think he only has her and Hunter – because he has Blaine too – or is she referring to everyone on staff that knows about the rift between him and his parents?

She guides him and Hunter into the nearest elevator that's just opened its metal doors. "So who are you?" she asks after she's pressed the  _2_  button, openly and unashamedly staring at Hunter.

Sebastian can sense his roommate straightening his spine under her scrutinising look. The military training is strong with this one, he thinks.

"Hunter Clarington, ma'am. Sebastian and I share the same dorm." There's something in Hunter's tone, something strictly no-nonsense, that Sebastian hasn't heard before. Hunter's been harsh and he's been gentle, he's been the cause of Sebastian's distress and the only one he's let near him at Dalton to comfort him.

But Sebastian has never seen him so formal, so disciplined.

"Roommates?" Therese clarifies.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Not…?"

Sebastian has a feeling he knows what Therese is getting at. He's not sure he wants to offer her a response on that matter. It's neither the time nor the place, and while he has no feelings for Hunter like  _that_ , they have shared a moment he can't take back and led to his internal crisis that he'd tried to deny for years. He supposes he can't blame Therese for wondering though. Hunter has stayed true to his word. He hasn't let go of Sebastian's hand.

"No, ma'am. Sebastian merely needs all the support he can get right now."

Therese clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth as the doors open and she closes her hand around Sebastian's free forearm to lead him. "Couldn't agree more," she says, her voice low enough that she could be talking to herself, as they step into the corridor.

The smell that is just so quintessentially  _hospital_  is stronger here and he wrinkles his nose. Antiseptic and bleach and sickness all blend to make a unique scent that he's uncomfortably familiar with. He struggles to move from the spot half a step from the elevator, knowing the operating rooms and the recovery bay are to the left and on the right is a spacious room with a coffee maker and a range of snacks at one end. There are some doors that line the room which open to pull-out beds for the people whose loved ones have really long operations and don't want to leave the area. He's been there too many times before.

"Hey, deep breath," Hunter says when he must see the expression on Sebastian's face and understands it to be the one he wears when his chest is constricting inwards and he can't breathe. He squeezes Sebastian's hand hard enough to break bones and Sebastian barely feels it.

Therese moves her hand from his arm to run down his back, settling it on the dip of his spine. It's a firm gesture of support and strength. Somewhere, Blaine is negotiating his way to this floor. He'll have three people behind him and his parents will only have each other.

 _Serves them right_ , a selfish voice sneers.

He allows Therese to lightly propel him forwards, pushing him towards the closed waiting room doors. Hunter's grip stays tight around his hand as Therese opens them and he steps into the room, his eyes scanning around the space to find the huddled pair in a corner towards the back.

Despite how angry he was that they hadn't called him, he feels like he transforms into the little boy who had skinned his knees on his first day of kindergarten and cried until the school nurse had called his mother because she had "magic" to make his sickness go away. He's pierced by hurt when he realises he's missed his parents. He's missed being important to them. Seeing them from across the room makes him want to run at them, fold into their arms, grieve with them. He's always had this image in his head of Lillian going into surgery and they say prayers together while holding hands.

The mirage he's held for years instead shatters before his eyes. Therese continues to touch his back and Hunter stays close to his side as they walk through the room decorated with paintings that are generic flowers and landscapes and abstract art and that's filled with plush couches and arm chairs to make the wait as comfortable as possible. Every step closer to his parents becomes harder and harder to make until his mother looks up and sees him, sees  _them_ , and her mouth parts just a little in surprise. He doesn't want to think it's because she hadn't expected to see him there because they hadn't called him. He can see that her eyes are unmistakably red but he doubts he looks any different.

"Seb!" she breathes, jumping to her feet and rushing towards him with outstretched arms.

He panics at the gesture, taking an automatic and unconscious step back and behind Hunter. His roommate's neck stiffens, his shoulders shifting into something that looks defensive. His mother stops with an expression on her face that is probably as distraught as his had been when Hunter had been holding him in the foyer of Dalton. Therese's hand subtly increases the pressure against his back as she takes a step towards him to offer her own protection and security. He'll owe her something later to show his gratitude. A new ball of yarn, perhaps.

"I'm not sure that's the best thing right now, Amelia," Therese says and her words are this peculiar mix of gentle and firm that Sebastian would never be able to manage but that he's heard in Blaine's voice before. They're patient with explanation yet underlined with a determination that leaves little room for anyone to argue.

"But-" Amelia's lower lip wobbles, her eyes filling with tears again. Sebastian's already so sick of her that he looks at his father, who hasn't looked up from the floor. He's not sure if William Smythe has simply shut down and is ignorant of what's going on around him or he can't stand to look at Sebastian. Maybe his father's the one that had been calling the shots about not contacting him. He'd always assumed it was his mother because of the way he'd spoken to her and the bits he'd picked up from Therese, but maybe it was his father. He's not sure how he feels about it.

"How about you tell Sebastian why we're here, Amelia?" Therese prompts, her fingers tiptoeing up Sebastian's spine to rub between his shoulder blades. He's overwhelmed by how easily she manages to navigate the situation. He would never have been equipped for handling this. Neither would Hunter nor Blaine. They would have been swamped by his mother's distress and he would have been mixed up with guilt and anger and confusion because he'd feel like he needed to offer her comfort rather than demand she care about him.

Thank  _God_  James had let Hunter come with him. Running into Therese was an added bonus.

Amelia inhales deeply, wiping tears from her eyes and holding her hands together just beneath her chin. She looks like a small, wobbly, broken child.

"She- A heart- A heart came through from Michigan, Seb."

* * *

_**~TBC~** _

* * *

****Author's Note 1:**  **The Warbler's were singing 'You Are Not Alone' by Michael Jackson. [There is a version of this performed by Dreamz in the Last Choir Standing TV show](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OCS6AKgZ_zQ), which is a choir version used for inspiration in this chapter. Click the link, find it on my Tumblr, or search for it via Google.

 **Author's Note 2:**  While this story is far from over, it is being placed on  **hiatus**  for approximately a month. From Dec 28-Jan 23, I will be travelling to five different states of the USA. I will have my iPad, allowing me to continue writing, but I will probably struggle to have a reliable internet connection. I've also learned this year that it is difficult to upload stories/chapters from the iPad. As such, I won't be updating until I return. I would like to keep the Tuesday updates going, so I am intending to resume regular posting transmission on  **Jan 27, 2015**. If you would like to keep up with what I'm doing, then I will attempt to post some updates to my blog - you can find a link on my profile.

At this point, I would like to thank everyone who has given this story a go and whether you are someone who is hiding in the shadows and reading, or has favourited it, or followed it, or left kudos, or has reviewed, I would like to thank all of you. All I can simply say is thank you to everyone who is reading - I wouldn't continue posting if there was no audience for such a story. To those who haven't left a review or comment, don't be shy. I'm an incredibly chatty person and always willing to connect with more readers :)

I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas or holiday period and a Happy New Year. Enjoy the month of January and I'll see you here when I return!


	14. Chapter 14

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
**Word Count:** 9,064 ****  
Summary: Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. ****  
**Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:**  Angst (of course).

* * *

_A heart came through from Michigan._

It echoes within his head so rapidly that it distorts out of shape, into something he doesn't recognise seconds after his mother tells him. Whatever he might have expected from the frantic rush to get to the hospital, it wasn't that his sister was getting a transplant. He'd thought that the odds were too small of a heart coming through. He'd thought her blood type was too rare to find a match. He'd thought that after four years-

And suddenly he realises that if this  _works_ , if this goes  _right_ , he could have another decade,  _more_ , with his sister.

His knees buckle and Hunter barely avoids landing on top of him. He's a tangled heap of limbs and sobs and he no longer gives a fuck if his mother is watching him fall apart or not because he's too far gone to even try to think straight about this. Lillian could be okay. Lillian could survive. Lillian could get out of hospital, go to school, play sport, sing, dance, paint.

The possibilities for her life after the operation become  _endless_.

He knows he has Hunter's arms around him and he can feel fingers stroking through his hair that he thinks are probably Therese's but neither of them attempt to move him from his heap on the floor. Neither of them attempt to tell him to get up. Neither of them reduce their protective stance around him, wherever his parents are or whatever they're doing. Neither of them fill his head with ' _It's going to be okay'_  but the tiniest bit of hope flickers within his chest because maybe, just maybe, it  _will_  be okay.

"Hey." Hunter's arms slacken, a large hand settling on Sebastian's cheek to try to guide him into looking up. He fights it because he doesn't want the mess of his tear-stained face seen by his roommate. Hunter huffs and prods at his forehead. " _Dude_ , is Blaine a curly-haired kid?"

He freezes. There's a long moment where the avalanche of hysteria stops and teeters within him. He looks at Hunter blindly. His roommate's gaze is over Sebastian's shoulder when he inclines his head. Sebastian tries to sit up to follow his eyes, past the chairs and couches to see back to the door where Blaine is scowling in a wheelchair. An orderly stands behind him. He thinks her name is Marnie.

" _Blaine_ ," he breathes when their eyes meet. Blaine's the best thing Sebastian's seen all day, the most beautiful and needed sight he's had since James found him after the Warblers had finished singing. It's been weeks since he visited Blaine and he realises how stupid he was to take a break from the other boy when the mere sight of him is enough for some of the panic in Sebastian's chest to loosen.

He doesn't think about what to do. He scrambles free of Hunter's body and stumbles through the lines of chairs and couches to get to Blaine, desperate to hold him close and surrender into Blaine's care. By the time he gets there, Blaine has been carefully helped to his feet by the orderly and Sebastian sweeps him away from the wheelchair and into a hug, holding on fiercely as Blaine's arms surround him with warmth and safety and familiarity. The gesture fills him with guilt after he'd avoided seeing Blaine for the past weeks while he'd tried to figure himself out.

"I'm here," Blaine whispers against his ear, a set of fingers curling around the back of his neck for comfort. "I'm here, Seb. Breathe for me, remember?"

He's conscious that Blaine's still developing his ability to walk and he's not sure how long he can stand. He's not sure how much Blaine is holding onto him to offer support versus his own muscular-skeletal weaknesses that means Blaine needs support too. He shuffles them a few steps to the nearest couch and Blaine brushes a brief kiss to his temple as he sits and then holds out his arms for Sebastian to press into. He doesn't waste any time curling into Blaine's side. He listens to Blaine's breathing, listens to the quietness of his voice as he runs Sebastian through the same breathing exercise that he'd done when Hunter had called Blaine weeks ago. He feels Blaine's chest rise and fall against his cheek, feels his fingers smoothing through his hair and down the back of his neck. It's not enough to turn him silent, but it is enough to soothe his panic. If Lillian was his sun and moon and rock, Blaine was his stars and sunshine.

He doesn't know where anyone else is in the room right now. He doesn't care.

"I've got you," Blaine promises when his sobs have eased to the occasional hiccup. His body feels temporarily drained of the emotional uproar that has churned through him since James had found him. He sinks into Blaine's embrace, cuddling into his smaller body and pressing his head to Blaine's shoulder.

"Blaine, right?" Hunter's voice sounds somewhere to his right. He feels Blaine stiffen slightly and he scratches his fingers gently against Blaine's back. He has a feeling Blaine is recalling the story he'd told about his first meeting with Hunter and the shift in his body language is a result of his anxiety. Even though things with him and Hunter are still a bit weird, he knows Hunter wouldn't harm him or Blaine.

"You must be Hunter," Blaine says, his tone cautious and careful as he clutches Sebastian closer. "Thank you for being here."

"Sebastian wanted me to be," Hunter explains and Sebastian feels his roommate's hand touch his shoulder. He tries to pretend it's his imagination that Blaine leans away. "You want me to still be here or have I been replaced?"

His normal reaction is to snort but his nose is so congested that a breathless laugh escapes him instead. He draws away from Blaine's embrace enough to look towards his parents who have resumed being huddled together in the corner. Therese has somehow ended up in the middle of the room but her gaze is fixed on him. He feels a shiver run down his spine for reasons he can't really explain.

He looks up at Hunter, his eyes feeling itchy and sore and ready to be removed from his head. His lungs ache in his chest. His roommate looks strange in his school uniform. It only really starts to dawn on Sebastian that he's in his uniform too. Hunter is looking at him in a way he can't quite discern, probably because his roommate still has that impassive face thing going. There's something in his eyes though, something he'll have to remember to ask about later.

"D-Don't go too far," he whispers, bunching his fingers into Blaine's shirt because yes, Hunter  _has_  been replaced but he's not too proud to admit it. He still wants Hunter around as shelter from his parents.

"Wouldn't dream of it, man," Hunter says with a squeeze of his hand against Sebastian's shoulder. "I'll just be over there and read until you want me, alright?"

He nods and Hunter moves away again. He can feel the straightness of Blaine's spine reducing.

"He makes me uncomfortable," Blaine admits, reaching up to dab at Sebastian's cheeks with his cardigan sleeve.

"He… H-He won't h-hurt you," he says, eyes closing briefly to allow Blaine the opportunity to clean his face. He prefers to think that it's an instinctive move and that Blaine isn't crossing past the boundaries of being a friend.

"It's not  _me_  I'm worried about," Blaine replies, the softness of his cardigan dragging over his face followed by gentle fingers spanning his cheeks. He opens his eyes again and it takes him a moment to focus blurry eyes on Blaine's radiating concern.

"W-We're better n-now," he says, not willing to elaborate despite Blaine's arched brows. He doesn't know how much Hunter has to lose but Sebastian knows how to be discrete with the details of who he hooks up with. No one will ever know unless Hunter  _wants_  them to know, and considering the front he puts up of not being interested in bisexuality, he doubts that will ever happen. It's not his secret to tell so a secret it will remain.

"Okay," Blaine sighs, his thumb brushing along the puffy skin of Sebastian's cheeks and the curve beneath his eye. It's intimate and makes his stomach flutter. "So, can you tell me what's happening?"

He stammers his way through the scant details he knows. It's a struggle to keep himself together when he starts explaining the process of a heart transplant and what it means for Lillian's prospects. He can remember sitting in the corner of the doctor's room with Lillian on his lap years ago. After the latest failed surgery to help Lillian's heart, the cardiologist, Charlie Hopper, had told his parents a transplant was needed and his sister was going to be put on the list. He'd been told to keep Lillian distracted from what was being said but both of them had carefully pretended to play with each other's hands while listening intently to every word. Lillian had asked him to explain it better when he'd gotten home and he'd had to sit with her on the computer and try to make sense of the complicated medical words on the screen without being caught by their parents.

The couple of years that have passed since then have felt more like decades.

At some point, he returns to resting his head against Blaine's shoulder and lets Blaine's fingers wind through his hair. He's too exhausted to cry right now but he's aware of his heart pounding too hard and too fast. His breathing occasionally hitches when the realisation of it all stabs through him again. His hands quiver where they're curled into Blaine's shirt.

He sits huddled into Blaine's smaller body taking every bit of comfort that he can until he realises that his neck has been twisted into the same uncomfortable position for too long. When he tries to move, he whimpers and Blaine's fingers move to massage his neck that he struggles to stretch and rotate.

"Hey, I have an idea." Blaine helps him sit up with a hand on his back. His head spins as he orientates himself. "Let go for a sec."

"But-"

"I'm going to shift to the end of the couch so you can curl up and rest your head in my lap, okay?" Blaine interrupts gently and he feels bad for assuming Blaine was going to try to leave. He should trust the other boy more. Blaine's only trying to make Sebastian more comfortable. He doesn't know what he did to deserve this boy as his friend after creeping in on him while he'd been unconscious in the PICU so many months ago.

He lets go of Blaine's shirt even though it feels physically painful to do so. Blaine scoops the cushions out of the way and scoots to the end of the couch. Within thirty seconds, his head is settled on a pillow in Blaine's lap and Blaine's fingers are stroking through his hair again.

"Better?" Blaine says, moving his thumb to brush along the sore stretch of muscle on his neck. He releases a delighted breath of relief.

"Much," he concedes, wrapping his arm across Blaine's legs. He knows Blaine will take care of him and keep him safe. He trusts Blaine to take care of him and keep him safe. He doesn't give a crap about his parents being on the other side of the large room. He knows they could interrupt them at any point, but Blaine is comforting and comfortable and he's so grateful that it makes his eyes water. "Thank you for being here."

"Like I'd be anywhere else," Blaine say, smiling down at him as his fingers leave tingling trails against his scalp. "I told Ben he could either organise a wheelchair and an orderly or I was taking my frame and hobbling up here. He insisted that was a bad idea so I told him he'd better get the wheelchair organised quickly because I was leaving in less than thirty seconds."

An amused smile drags at his lips which makes Blaine's smile grow. "My hero," he teases and Blaine pinches his cheek and sticks out his tongue.

"A hero complete with a chair on wheels which I can't even operate myself because I'd just go in circles," Blaine says with a disgruntled huff.

An unexpected burst of quiet laughter escapes him before he can stop it.

"Are you  _laughing_  at the fact I still have a gimpy arm?" Blaine pouts, his eyes wide with mock outrage.

It feels so wrong to be telling jokes with Blaine and smiling at a time like this. His smile wobbles as he recalls the seriousness of the situation he's in. "Maybe?"

Blaine scoffs and rolls his eyes. His fingers resume the gentle stroking of his hair. "You're  _horrible_."

He pokes out his tongue and Blaine snorts and pinches his cheek again. Even when everything in his life is completely inverted, Blaine is capable of being a rock in the middle of a storm. He realises he's come to adore Blaine being in his life. He's not sure if that's a problem.

He sighs quietly and adjusts his head on the pillow, his eyes drifting closed for a moment. There's no way he could possibly sleep but he can allow himself to relax, just a little, because Blaine's here and capable of helping more than Sebastian ever expected.

"Talk to me," Sebastian requests when the images behind his eyes grow dark and stormy, flickers of blood red and Lillian's pale face. Blaine's fingers pause for a moment.

"About what?"

"Anything. I keep thinking about her and I-"

"Okay, okay."

Blaine's fingers resume their steady movements, easing Sebastian's burst of desperation as he sought a distraction. He wonders what races through Blaine's head as he searches through topics. He notices Blaine's fingers don't falter, don't lose rhythm, with stroking his hair.

"Right so… Um… I have a tentative release date of sometime within the next month?" Blaine begins uncertainly and it helps Sebastian stop thinking about Lillian so much as he listens to Blaine talk about the slow progress he was making. Even though Blaine still lacks a lot of strength and fine motor coordination, he has enough determination that he thinks he'll be able to cope at his house after a few adjustments are made and he keeps his frame for support. It isn't until Sebastian notices the pain in Blaine's words that he realises Blaine hasn't been home since early November and now it's the middle of April.

He listens to Blaine talk about his uncertainty over school next year, how his parents had asked if he wanted to live with his older brother for a while because LA was more accepting than Ohio. Sebastian keeps quiet about his wish for Blaine to attend Dalton. He's not sure there are any reasons for Blaine to stay in Ohio and go to a public school here. He's already worked out that he's one of the few people that have stuck by Blaine. Perhaps he's the only one. He suspects the attack broke any previous friendships.

He listens to Blaine drift towards a new tangent, something about the events in the rehabilitation ward that have caused minor squabbles and major uproar. There's an elderly grandmother who fell in the shower and broke her hip and refuses to get up and walk. There's a sixty-something man who lost the lower half of his right leg after a motorcycle accident. He's halfway through listening to Blaine talking about a group game of blackjack that had occurred a few days ago when it all begins to fade away.

* * *

_He's behind the wheel of a car. He's not sure why. He's never driven before. He isn't sure how to operate the pedals properly. He struggles with coordinating his feet and the steering wheel. When he peers through the windscreen, he doesn't recognise the streets he's driving through either. Is he in some part of Westerville he's not wholly familiar with? There aren't any street lamps to illuminate his path but there's an eerie glow against street corners. He senses he's merely driving through a long tunnel of black, black, black. Maybe the street corners are actually just branches of the tunnel._

_Something sticky slides down his arm and the side of his face. It's thick and viscous. Try as he might, he can't wipe it away because his limbs are paralysed. His hands are clamped around the wheel of the car. His foot is jammed on the accelerator. He can tell he's moving – he can tell he's driving fast – but he can't see. He's barrelling through a tunnel of black and he's completely out of control._

_There's a light ahead. It's far away, small, barely a pinprick but at the speed he's travelling, it starts to expand. It transforms from a pinprick to a finger, from a finger to a fist, from a fist to a beach ball, from a beach ball to the size of the sun._

_And then he realises it's not a light at the end of the tunnel at all._

_It's the headlight of a truck._

_He's sure he opens his mouth. He knows he wants to open his mouth. He tries to scream._

_Silence echoes around him._

_He's powerless to the impending crash. He can't warn the other driver that his car is beyond his control. He's trapped and he can't tear his eyes away from the light expanding greater and greater._

_He catches the gleam of the truck's metal grille, sees the wide whites of the eyes of a stranger. He tries to scream again because there's the faint clang then screech of metal colliding._

_There's a blinding white light._

_And then it all goes dark._

* * *

He wakes with a scream, flinging his arms around him because there are arms on him and he can't get away and the nightmare has seared its way onto the backs of his retinas and all he can see is the metal of the grille coming at him and the truck driver's eyes and the racing thud of his heart as he knew he was going to die and then he'd-

" _Seb!_ "

He startles at Blaine's firm hands cupping his cheeks, drawing him away from the glare of bright headlights and instead he sees warm caramel brown eyes. He's trembling all over, his heart beating so hard it feels like it's trying to escape his chest, his breathing so short he feels dizzy. He hasn't-

"It was just a nightmare," Blaine says, calm and slow and gentle. "Look at me, Seb. Focus on me. You're okay. It was just a horrible dream."

The lingering wisps of the nightmare make his brain fuzzy in the present. He doesn't understand why Blaine's here – he wonders how he fell asleep on Blaine's tiny hospital bed – before he realises they aren't on Blaine's hospital bed.

The panic of the impending crash is nothing compared to the overload of guilt and shame that he feels when he realises he fell asleep.

"I-" His lower lip traitorously wobbles. He bites on it to keep it steady as tears fill his eyes. How could  _anyone_  fall asleep when-

"Hey, you weren't out very long," Blaine assures, tugging him closer and wrapping him into a tight hug. "You didn't miss anything, Seb. I would have woken you."

He's no longer sure if he's upset because of the nightmare or the guilt of falling asleep while Lillian is in pieces on an operating table. He listens to Blaine because it's too hard to fight everything on his own. At least temporarily. He's already capable of worrying about what will happen when he and Blaine get separated, when he and Hunter have to return to Dalton, when he has to deal with his parents.

Blaine draws away to assess him. He's still shaking, but he thinks it might be because of the constant thrum of anxiety which has threaded its way through his entire nervous system. His sister isn't  _that_  far away and she's in the middle of surgery that could solve a lot of problems.

"Are you with me?" Blaine asks, cradling his face to hold him steady.

He searches the honeyed eyes in front of him but he's not sure what he's looking for. He gives a weak nod and Blaine smiles tentatively before tangling their fingers together. It's warm and familiar, something safe that he hadn't realised was capable of grounding him so effectively. Without words exchanged, Blaine moves down the couch and he settles again in the offered lap.

And sees Hunter staring at him from a much closer chair.

He sits up quickly, nearly smacking Blaine's chin with his head. "What are you-"

"We were just talking," Hunter interrupts, holding up a hand that barely slows his torrent of uneasy questions. The words do nothing to reduce the sick feeling in his stomach.

"About what?" he says suspiciously, glancing between Hunter and Blaine. Blaine looks guiltily towards Hunter and it confirms that it must have been about him. Fear, hurt,  _betrayal_ burns through him and he lets go of Blaine's hand like it's electrocuted him and stands. A blanket he hadn't noticed before slips from his shoulders to the floor in a pile of blue and white hospital-issued fabric.

"Sebas-"

" _Don't_ ," he warns, moving away from Blaine before he says something he'll regret. He already feels like he's been playing with explosives all day. He doesn't need the paranoia of his only friend and his roommate swapping stories about him to be the spark that sets him off.

He needs something to do which will keep his hands busy. Casting his eyes around, he sees the small cafeteria area and approaches the coffee maker with a particularly fervent determination. He's pretty sure both Blaine and Hunter are watching him - maybe his parents are too - but he doesn't know what else to do. He doesn't want to leave the waiting area in case news comes. He doesn't want to trade the sting of betrayal that Blaine and Hunter were talking about him for the devastation his parents have inflicted after months without contact. He'd prefer to avoid  _them_  as long as possible. It's a sick game of tug-o-war and he's barely balancing in the middle.

A hand reaches for a neatly packaged blueberry muffin beside him and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Is that Blaine Anderson?" Therese asks casually, leaning against the wall beside the coffee machine as nonchalantly as possible and peeling the wrapper open.

He rolls his eyes because he can recognise what she's doing. He knows she's just keeping her hands busy too while she tries to dig her way into his personal life. He stabs at the coffee machine again, his frustration brewing more than any coffee that is meant to be coming out of it.

"He asked you for information on Lillian once," he says because Therese knows who Blaine is. She'd treated him. She'd heard his excuse for creeping in on Blaine when he was caught at a hospital room that wasn't Lillian's. Therese isn't a fool. She doesn't need to pretend she is.

"Indeed." She nods and picks at a chunk of the muffin. "You seem very…close."

He looks at her incredulously. She looks smug as shit about something and he doesn't like it. This morning when the Dalton boys had been rowdy, he'd hoped the butt of the joke wasn't going to be him and been reassured when it hadn't been. Now there's all these smiles and guilty looks and secretive glances and he's pretty sure the joke is definitely him except he doesn't know what's so funny.

"We're just  _friends_ ," he says, slowly and clearly. He really hates how many times he has to explain that to people. It's not like he and Blaine have kissed or exchanged undying vows of devotion or any of a hundred other disgustingly romantic sentiments. Blaine just brings him comfort and he needs all the comfort he can get right now.

She shrugs and pops a piece of muffin in her mouth. Her eyes glitter with mirth instead of what he might have expected - disgust, hatred - at the close friendship he shares with Blaine. "He obviously cares about you," she continues, pushing him more than he's willing to be pushed.

He grimaces because Blaine's just been talking about him with Hunter and he hates knowing that. He returns to jabbing buttons on the coffee machine. He's almost prepared to just give up and punch the stupid thing when one of her hand covers his.

"You need to allow your friends to take care of you, Sebastian," she says, pulling his hand from the machine. It's probably because she knows he wants to pick it up and hurl it across the room. "Your parents- They're struggling right now. They have no idea how to approach you."

He scowls and rips his hand away from hers. Anger makes his gaze turn red. "And I'm  _not_  struggling?" he snaps, gritting his teeth and pressing his lips together as the rage swells within him.

She sighs, stepping closer and adjusting the lapels of his blazer. "Of  _course_  you are, Seb," she says gently, smoothing the fabric along his shoulders. "I've seen you grow to adore Lillian, although I can recall you weren't thrilled when you realised what having a baby sister really meant." She winks, but he has no idea what she's implying. "I know you would have given up your own heart if it would have saved her."

His neck stiffens at her words, his eyes averting to contain the rush of tears that threaten to spill down his cheeks. He wonders how she knows him so well when they haven't talked that much over the years. He's not even sure his parents realise that he truly loves Lillian so much that he'd sacrifice his own life for hers. He doubts his parents would be sad about it.

As if Therese is capable of reading his thoughts, she presses on. "I've also seen what they've done to you over the years, leaving you to grow up on your own with no guidance or support," Therese says, her fingers straightening the knot of his tie although she leaves his top button undone. He's surprised he still has the tie on. Maybe that's why he feels like he's choking all the time. "I've seen you change from a wide-eyed little boy into an insecure teenager who thinks he has nothing to lose."

He doesn't know where she's going with this and maybe that scares him more than anything. It feels like her words might be capable of carving him into pieces and he's not sure he has the emotional capacity to handle such a thing right now.

"Why are you-"

"Lillian's always been someone you could lose and you've known that for a long time," Therese interrupts and he shuts his mouth and stares down at her. She's a couple of inches shorter than him now. She never used to be shorter than him. He can faintly remember tugging at her skirt for another jelly snake. Maybe he's been growing the past few months. Maybe he'll gain back that height Hunter seems to have gained on him. "I think Blaine's becoming someone else you could lose, and maybe even that other friend from school who's here, and you're scared like hell of that so you're locking yourself away from letting them near you."

He has no idea how she's analysed him so deeply and so well. He feels like she's just torn open his gut and exposed his heart and soul for the world to see. Except she's not crowing with victory, not lauding it over him, but instead continuing to look patient and calm while her words linger on his skin and tears slide down his cheeks.

"Your parents haven't understood you for a long time because they stopped trying when Lillian got sick," Therese says, reaching up to touch his cheek and thumb away the wetness. "But Blaine? I can see he cares about you and I think that Hunter boy does too. You need to let them take care of you right now because I can guarantee you that Amelia and William wouldn't know the first thing about looking after  _you_ , Sebastian."

He struggles to understand her words on top of the conflict that's already in his head over Lillian, his parents, Blaine, Hunter. It all merges together into something that threatens to be completely overwhelming. He doesn't understand how Therese knows all this. He doesn't understand why Therese has put herself on his side of the fence. He's not entirely sure if Therese is confirming that his parents abandoned interest in him a while ago or not, but that's how he's interpreting her words and it  _hurts_. It hurts to think that he lived under his parent's roof and they had as much interest in his wellbeing as they've apparently done since he was dumped at Dalton in January.

"Why are you telling me this?" he whispers, his defences starting to crumble under Therese's observations.

She smiles sadly and places her muffin on the table, reaching for his hands and grasping them between her own. They're warm and firm and steadier than his have been for hours. "Because whatever happens with Lillian today will change everything," she says, looking directly in his eyes. "Whatever happens, your parents will want to reach out to you, to apologise for their mistakes, to mend the bridges they've broken, to brush away your hurt and say it's all better now."

He frowns. He doesn't understand why it would be a bad thing to see his parents own up to their mistakes.

"Sebastian." Therese draws his attention back. "I don't want it to seem like I'm telling you how to run your life but you don't  _have_  to forgive them straight away. Whatever they try to make you feel will be so that you ignore the hurt you feel because of them. They will try to make you forget the anger that's cascaded out of you and the tears you've cried because of their disinterest. And you have every right to feel whatever you feel after they approach you to repair things." She squeezes his hands and folds them together, cradling them in her own. "Don't allow them to negate how you've felt the past years because they haven't cared for you properly. Do you understand me?"

He wants to say no because that would be the truth. He has absolutely no idea what she's talking about. She'd gone from someone that understood him perfectly to someone talking about shit he didn't understand at all.

She squeezes his hands again, offering him gentle comfort. "You don't have to forget how they've made you feel, Sebastian," Therese says, finally letting his hands go so she can press a few buttons on the coffee machine. It starts whirring and making clunking noises and he wonders what the hell she did to the stupid thing which was so special. He thought he'd hit every damn button. She reaches for an apple that brings her mouth closer to his ear. "I'm on your side if you want to talk about them," she says quietly, picking up her muffin and wandering away to the same seat she'd been in earlier.

His eyebrows crinkle together as she sits, winks at him and pulls out her phone.

What the  _hell_  was that all about?

The coffee machine hums with a life it hadn't held before. He grasps one of the paper cups hopefully and puts it beneath the spout. He presses a button and the machine clunks again and it sounds almost ominous when there's an internal hiss and some steam comes out the back.

And then dark liquid salvation begins to dribble into the cup. He pretends to focus on making the coffee, touching another button to add milk when the coffee has poured forth, but really he's still churning over what Therese had said. She'd made it blatantly obvious she was on his side but what did that actually  _mean_? Why would his parents apologise and try to reduce the importance of how he'd felt? Surely if they were apologising it meant they understood the extent and gravity of their mistakes, right? They were  _adults_. They were  _meant_  to be mature enough to take responsibility for their actions and understand why their actions had been problematic in the first place.

… _right_?

The coffee machine quietens after the milk spews into the cup and he guesses he's done with it for now. He ends up selecting a large chocolate chip cookie to take with him. When he turns around, he realises that he's not actually sure where he's taking it to. He doesn't think he wants to sit with Therese and end up with his brain tangled by even more riddles. There's no way he's going anywhere near his parents. When he glances to his left, Hunter is still sitting opposite Blaine but they don't appear to be looking at each other or talking. He supposes he can't avoid them forever and as much as he doesn't want to admit it, Blaine's here for him. So is Hunter. He'd been grateful for their support and strength earlier so being a jerk isn't fair when he still needs them.

He sighs nervously and approaches the couch. Hunter's already seen him and leans back in his chair, eyes scanning down his body and up again. It unsettles him. It almost feels like he's being checked out.

He stops by the couch, looking at Hunter first before focusing on Blaine who is staring at the floor with his hands clasped together. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, placing his coffee and cookie on a side table and crouching in front of Blaine in an attempt to find his eyes. "I was rude and I shouldn't have been."

Blaine's eyes drift to him, faintly shiny with unshed tears. Tan fingers reach for Sebastian's face so he shifts closer, allowing them to curve around his cheek. He relaxes into the touch and his eyelids flutter.

"You're hurting," Blaine says, "and you're scared. I don't hold it against you."

He smiles weakly and reaches for Blaine's hand to grasp. Their fingers thread together when Blaine hesitantly returns the smile. Some of the tension in his belly unravels as he picks up his coffee and cookie and sits on the couch. Blaine moves closer because he can't lay down and sip his coffee, letting his hand rub circles into Sebastian's knee.

Hunter stares at them with wide eyes.

Sebastian had intended to ask about the discussion that had taken place when he'd fallen asleep but the words stick in his throat when he goes to say them. Maybe he doesn't want to know. Maybe he doesn't need anything else on his mind right now.

An uncomfortable silence falls around them while Sebastian sips his coffee and nibbles at the biscuit. He's not particularly hungry or thirsty but he'd used the place as an escape which meant he was forced to return with something. He probably has to consume it despite feeling convinced he'd have an easier time swallowing lava.

He checks the time, notes that it's approaching two-thirty, and starts doing calculations in his head. If James had found him shortly after eleven, and assuming Lillian had gone into surgery half an hour to an hour before that, and heart transplants can take anywhere from four to eight hours, then he's known for around three and a half hours and Lillian has probably been operated on for at least four hours, possibly slightly more. He forces himself to be comforted by the fact no one has come to tell them bad news.

"Are you hungry, Blaine?" Hunter says. There's something about his careful neutrality that makes the skin of Sebastian's neck prickle.

Blaine shifts nervously beside him and Sebastian wonders if Blaine and Hunter are really terrible liars or if Sebastian's just more adept at concealing his thoughts and feelings by sneering at everyone. "Um… Yeah, I… Ordinarily I would have had lunch by now…"

Sebastian realises that he was probably asleep in Blaine's lap when he would usually have eaten. He hadn't considered that others needed to eat too. He internally berates himself for his selfishness when he looks down at his half-eaten cookie.

"I'll go get a few sandwiches." Hunter stands, picking at a spot on his blazer in an attempt to not meet Sebastian's eyes. "Do you want something too, Seb?"

He thinks about the consequences of having too much food in his stomach if the news about Lillian is bad. He doesn't want to hear the worst because he'll almost definitely throw up. There's already a churning nausea that makes him feel desperately sick.

"Get something anyway," Blaine speaks for him and Hunter gives a brief nod before walking towards the doors to take him out of the waiting room. Blaine rubs at his knee until his roommate is gone, and then reaches for his hands holding the cookie. "What's going on?"

He looks at Blaine with narrowed eyes, his forehead crinkled with confusion. Defiance pokes at his heart. "My sister is getting a heart transplant. What do  _you_  think?"

He sees the flash of hurt that Blaine can't conceal in his eyes and looks down at his lap. He doesn't deserve to have Blaine here. Maybe he shouldn't even be here. He'd been determined to break his mother but he doesn't want to break Blaine. He can't afford to lose him. He's already ashamed at the pain his harsh words could inflict on someone as precious as Blaine.

"I think you're terrified," Blaine says, freeing the cookie from his hands and placing it on the coffee table. "I think you're trying to stay strong because your parents are here and I think you're anxious because of your sister and I think you're spending too much time in your head because you can't find the words and I think you're unable to stop wondering about what Hunter and I talked about so it's making you not trust either of us."

He glowers at the carpet. He can't believe this is the second time in an hour that someone has peeled apart his heart and revealed he has one to the world. Blaine forcibly wriggles his fingers between the gaps in Sebastian's and holds his hand tightly, thumb dragging over his knuckles.

"Hunter had no idea your sister was sick. He just wanted to know what he shouldn't say to avoid you getting angry with him or breaking down in tears," Blaine explains with a marginal increase in the strength of his grip. The steadiness in his voice seems to suggest he isn't lying and Sebastian isn't sure how to feel about it. He hadn't expected his roommate to really… _care_  that much. "He wanted to know how you and I met and why we were friends." A quiet, breathy laugh escapes Blaine. "He couldn't understand why I didn't throw you out of my hospital room when I woke up and you were there."

Sebastian's shoulders begin to sag when he realises he'd gotten angry and defensive for no real reason. He feels sick with guilt. He should have trusted Blaine to keep his secrets. He should have trusted Blaine to know what to say. "I don't understand that either," he mumbles, because why Blaine has stuck around has been a mystery for months.

Blaine laughs again, a little louder this time, and squeezes his hand. "I wake up and there's a boy staring at me? Please. I thought I was having the best dream ever," Blaine teases.

His lips twitch, even when he wants to stay mad and hurt and afraid.

"We talked about Dalton and some of the stuff you've been doing in classes. He mentioned he was in the Warblers so I asked what that was," Blaine continues, shrugging his shoulders which bumps his arm against Sebastian's. "We talked about what a shitty roommate you are because you use the bathroom for too long in the mornings."

"I do  _not_ ," he protests, his eyebrows drawn together with outrage. When he looks at Blaine, Blaine's smiling and the hurt around his eyes has faded.

"I didn't take the opportunity to gossip about you just because you were sleeping and he was there to talk to, Seb," Blaine says with another squeeze of his hand, directing his words precisely at Sebastian's deepest fears. He wonders how Blaine knew exactly how he felt. Maybe he was more transparent than he thought. "You also should know he didn't ask anything that was particularly invasive. Give me some credit, Bastian. I wasn't going to spill that you actually  _have_  a heart to someone who scared the hell out of you on the first day you met. I still don't trust him."

He grimaces and realises just how badly he'd screwed up, how thoroughly he'd misinterpreted the entire situation. Blaine had no reason to trust Hunter with anything because Blaine had no idea that he and Hunter weren't still in a bad place. And maybe Hunter was just being a genuinely caring roommate and he shouldn't have expected the worst from his only two friends.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have as-"

"You're already forgiven," Blaine interrupts firmly and he falls silent, because Blaine is so stubborn and determined that it leaves him in awe of how strong this boy has become without him being around to see it. He wonders if Blaine was always this fierce or if he's toughened up since the attack and cuts through the crap everyone says because he doesn't want to waste time with bullshit. "Can I hug it better?"

Rolling his eyes but smiling slightly fondly, he tugs Blaine into his chest and folds his arms around the smaller boy. Given how many times his roommate has apologised to him over the months, he's vaguely amused that this time he has to apologise to Hunter. "Thank you for being here," he whispers against Blaine's ear, breathing in his scent. When Blaine draws away, Sebastian quickly kisses his cheek in thanks. He wonders if it's his imagination that Blaine's face is slightly pink and he looks oddly flustered.

"I told you I wouldn't be anywhere else," Blaine says, his eyes struggling to maintain focus on Sebastian's face. He doesn't understand the expression that Blaine is obviously trying to conceal and he's not sure what it means. He's not sure he wants to ask because he isn't sure if he'll like the answer.

Blaine changes the direction of the conversation by demanding to know why he hadn't mentioned the Warblers before and he's surprised to discover that Blaine  _likes_  singing and dancing. There's a pretty cutting remark about gay guys and singing and dancing but he doesn't particularly want to feel the sting of Blaine's palm against his cheek. Blaine's interest in the Warblers shifts towards their own debates about music when Hunter returns with an overloaded tray. Sebastian wonders how he'd managed to carry four types of sandwiches in plastic triangle containers, a couple of tubs of yoghurt, two bottles of juice, soda and water, and a handful of other assorted snacks like nuts and candy.

"I  _might_  have overdone it," Hunter says in the closest thing to sheepish Sebastian has ever seen.

He struggles not to gape at the amount of food, dragging the coffee table closer to allow Hunter to put down the tray. "You think?" he says, leaning back against the couch. He figures he may as well let Hunter and Blaine decide what they want first. He's not that hungry anyway.

" _Eat_ ," Blaine encourages, pressing a sandwich into his chest. "Even just half. You know Lillian would want you to take care of yourself."

He sighs and looks down at the egg salad sandwich through the plastic. "I don't want to be sick later," he admits, his eyes prickling. Blaine brushes a comforting hand to his wrist and presses closer to his side. He gives in with the gentle weight of Blaine's body against him, opening the container and gnawing at a corner of the sandwich.

Blaine asks something about what Hunter has been doing in Chemistry recently and gradually Sebastian gets drawn into the conversation. It distracts him from his anxiety enough to consume half his sandwich. He's not sure he dares to eat more but he does take one of the bottles of apple juice and a bag of mixed nuts. Blaine loops their arms together, interlocking elbows, and Hunter pulls out his phone before he begins tapping his thumb across the screen. Sebastian wonders if anyone is messaging Hunter to find out where they've been all day.

"I cannot believe you are able to eat at a time like this."

He jumps in fright and looks over his shoulder. His father's expression is twisted with disgust as he surveys them with dark eyes. Sebastian tries not to rise to the bait.

"If you'd like something, Sir, then-"

"Not from the likes of  _you_ ," William snaps at Blaine and Sebastian falters slightly as he stands with Blaine's arm through his. His interest in the food is abandoned, his hand pressed gently to Blaine's shoulder to keep him seated and demonstrate he'll protect the younger boy. It's one thing to criticise him but he won't let anyone insult or harm Blaine, especially not someone like his father.

Past his father's shoulder, he can see Therese rising from her seat and pocketing her phone as she watches the standoff.

"Go back to mom," he says thickly, swallowing hard to keep his emotions in check and maintain his composure. He can feel the warmth and solidness of Hunter's presence close behind him. "I don't want you here right now."

William's jaw tenses, his eyes hardening, the edges of his lips twisting into a cruel sneer. "That makes two of us."

It's a devastating blow. It brings tears to his eyes before he can conceal them, and he's pretty sure his father sees it. He turns his head to the side to focus on the wall and sees Hunter move closer out of the corner of his eye. His roommate's hand presses low on his back for support and might be about the only thing that stops his knees from buckling.

"Sebastian has every right to be here, Mister Smythe," Hunter says firmly and sharply, his tone as clipped as William's. Sebastian briefly admires his military training, his ability to shut out the emotions and be crystal clear and direct. "Sebastian deserves to be here just as much as you and your wife. I'd also remind you that Sebastian is your  _son_  and he is the brother of your daughter." Hunter steps closer, the edge of his hip bumping Sebastian's side. It almost feels like Hunter isn't just protecting him but looking to intimidate his father. "Now, Sebastian has already asked you to leave so I'd advise you to do that."

When Sebastian glances at William, it looks like he's attempting to sort out what to say. He's definitely thinking something over in his head, his eyes scanning Hunter's face over Sebastian's shoulder and then returning his attention to Sebastian. His gaze drops to where Sebastian is still grasping Blaine's shoulder and his eyelid flickers when Sebastian subtly increases the pressure in his grip so Blaine knows he's safe.

"William?" Therese intervenes with a pleasantly unflustered smile. She grasps his father's elbow between two hands. "How about we leave these boys alone and I take you back to Amelia?"

She offers William no chance to protest. The whiteness around her knuckles is evident in just how tightly she's gripping his limb as she steers him away. After a few steps, she glances over her shoulder and gives Sebastian a wink.

With the fury of his father's presence dissipating with the distance Therese puts between them all, the fear Sebastian had been struggling to contain begins to break.

"I-" His hands tremble as he looks at Hunter over his shoulder. "Thank you."

Hunter shrugs, as if he hasn't just done something monumental for Sebastian, and returns to his seat. Sebastian sinks onto the couch, his arm wrapping around Blaine's shoulder to pull him closer. He can tell the brief encounter with William has shaken the smaller boy just as badly.

"Your father reminds me of mine," Hunter says, a scornful grin stretching his lips, as he resumes eating a tub of yoghurt. "I wouldn't be able to stand up to mine without getting a black eye, but your father makes a good imitation."

Sebastian blinks in surprise because the off-hand comment reminds him how little he knows about Hunter's family. He feels a shiver drag down Blaine's spine and presses his nose against the loose curls. "I'll keep you safe." He whispers the promise against Blaine's ear, pressing a light kiss to Blaine's temple to seal the words to his skin. Blaine gives a tiny nod and cuddles closer into his side. He wonders if it's normal to feel like your stomach is filled with fizzy warmth at the gesture.

"So is your father always that much of an asshole?" Hunter asks lightly, conversationally, scraping a spoon around the yoghurt cup. "Because honestly, it would explain a lot. Do you think it's genetic?"

" _Hunter_ ," he warns, not particularly in the mood for his roommate's mockery. Besides, if Hunter's father would give him a black eye then perhaps there's something genetic in the Clarington line too.

Hunter smiles as wide as a shark and flutters his eyelashes at Sebastian's glare.

"You look ridiculous," Blaine mutters from beneath Sebastian's arm. Hunter's eyes drop from Sebastian's face to Blaine's and transforms his look into a set of absurdly large lips pouting. "More ridiculous."

Hunter wrinkles his nose. "Tough crowd," he complains, scooting forward to tidy up the consumed food containers and rubbish littering the tray and wandering off to find a bin. Sebastian is grateful he has a chance to talk to Blaine without anyone watching them too closely.

He adjusts his arm around Blaine, raising his free hand to cup Blaine's cheek and find his eyes. "You okay?"

Blaine's eyes close, leaning into the touch much like Sebastian tended to do. His thumb drifts over the swell of Blaine's cheek. "Yeah, just… I didn't expect your dad, you know?" Blaine mumbles, releasing a shaky sigh and opening his eyes. "Thank you for standing up for me."

Sebastian offers a small smile, fingers tracing over the skin of Blaine's face because he's become intensely fascinated with the opportunity to touch someone like this. Usually it's Blaine soothing him, but now the roles are reversed and…he likes it.

"When your leg is less gimpy, I'll let you stand up for yourself," he teases, his lips curling into a smirk.

Blaine snorts and smacks lightly at his chest. "I can  _stand_ , Seb- _ass_ -tian."

Sebastian laughs quietly, brushing a soft kiss to Blaine's forehead and soaking in how easy it is to care for Blaine and comfort him. It's like taking care of Lillian, only better.

"I stepped in because it was my father and he shouldn't speak that way to  _anyone_ ," he murmurs against Blaine's hair, inhaling deeply to calm his own jittery nerves down. Blaine's fingers curl into the fabric of his blazer, as if he can tell Sebastian's not entirely okay after the encounter either. "You'll fight your own fights one day, B," he says as he draws Blaine towards him. "Then it'll be me thanking you for stepping in when I'm about to break someone's nose."

Blaine hums, tilting his head to rest it against Sebastian's shoulder as his fingers slip past Sebastian's blazer to fist into his shirt. He can feel the faint tremble in Blaine's hand even though he's distracted by the warmth of Blaine's skin so close to his. "Violence solves nothing," Blaine whispers.

Sebastian could argue with it, could make a joke out of it, but he knows Blaine was badly injured by an incredible amount of violence. As callous as he can be to his parents, he knows that making light of violence to Blaine would be completely inappropriate.

Instead, he nuzzles at Blaine's hair and enjoys having this boy tangled within his arms.

Hunter returns, flopping into his chair and pulling out his phone which is buzzing again. He wonders if Wes is texting him or if it's other Warblers. He suspects Hunter has probably been messaging someone at school to let them know  _something_  is going on. In any case, Hunter's far more popular and noticed than Sebastian is. People have probably noticed he's absent and wondering why.

"Any idea when there'll be any info?" Hunter says as he taps at his screen again.

Something cold washes over his shoulders at Hunter's question. He checks his watch with a twisting dread in his stomach. It's approaching 3.30 which must mean it's been about five hours. He opens his mouth to say something but the words get stuck as he breathes anxiety into his bloodstream. Hunter is watching him expectantly, his eyes occasionally dropping to where Blaine is tucked into the side of his body, and he's overcome with the sensation that he isn't sure he can speak. He isn't sure he can answer that question. He isn't sure he  _wants_  to answer that question because what if all they get when news comes is bad?

He ends up shaking his head and pressing part of his face against Blaine's curls. Blaine's fingers flex and curl in the fabric of his shirt comfortingly, but it doesn't do much now that his attention has been drawn back to the time, back to why they're all here in the first place.

He wishes the waiting wasn't so long.

He's pretty sure he might just lose his mind.

* * *

_**~TBC~** _


	15. Chapter 15

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
 **Word Count:** 9,332 ****  
Summary: Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. **  
** **Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
 **Warnings/Spoilers:**  Imagininations of a funeral. Underage alcohol use.

* * *

By the time it reaches four, Sebastian starts pacing. It doesn't matter how many times Blaine tries to get him to sit again. He just can't really handle the thought of being still. He's far too restless, far too desperate to work off the nervous energy. The brief moments that his ass touches the cushions are filled with so much vibrating anxiety that he's soon up and off the couch to pace again. He can't calm down. He can't focus. He can't think. They must be close to the six hour mark.  _Surely_  it has to be going okay because if Lillian had coded on the table then they- they-

He covers his face to hide how it twists with fear at the thought, shakes his head in an attempt to dispel it, pivots on the spot and crosses the same strip of floor for the twentieth or fiftieth or three thousandth time. All he can think about are the bad things, the terrible outcomes. He labours over whether Lillian will make it. He wonders whether Dalton was a temporary thing to keep him out of his parents' way and to ensure he ate, slept, went to school or if it will become permanent because evidently his father can't stand him. He frets over the idea that Lillian won't make it and the impact it could have on his parents. What happens if grief divides them? What happens if his mother wants him back? What happens if the money is split up and Dalton isn't affordable? What happens if he's meant to go back to Westerville High? What happens if he suggests to Blaine that he should go to Dalton because it would be safer and then he's forced to leave because there's no money and his parents pull him out of the school? What happens if his parents get so lost grieving for Lillian that they completely forget about him? What happens if they pretend he doesn't exist and he ends up essentially orphaned by them? What happens if they send him away to stay with his grandparents? What happens if-?

"You're making me sick," Hunter complains when he passes close enough his roommate. He doesn't deign to comment because he thinks responding might just unleash the torrent of his worries. Instead, he continues counting steps in his head while he twists through all the possibilities, all the 'what ifs', all the things he hasn't dared think for years but now… Now is apparently the time he can't stop thinking about them and he can't get them out of his mind.

_He has visions of a small white casket inlaid with dark timber, ornate chrome handles on the sides. There's a dark wooden trim embossed with flowers that somehow match the multi-coloured floral arrangement on top. Creepers cascade over the casket like a waterfall. It's a cool spring day with a few clouds marring a colourless sky. His mother wears a modest black dress with a hat that has a piece of netting covering her face. His father wears a black suit over a black shirt._

_Sebastian stands separated from them, feeling like a ghost that can only silently observe the proceedings. Blaine is beside him in a wheelchair wearing, oddly enough, a black bow tie. Hunter stands on the other side of him in full Dalton uniform. Wes is beside Hunter._

_There are other people gathered around the grave – Therese, Cynthia, Sinead, Charlie Hopper, other nurses and doctors from the hospital, some school friends of Lillian's that he doubts she'd seen recently, his grandparents on his mother's side and his grandmother on his father's – and they all seem to be holding white roses and white handkerchiefs and white-_

"Seb." Blaine stands in the middle of his path, his hands raised to press against Sebastian's chest when he's forced to stop. His honey-coloured eyes are wide with concern as his fingers curl into the lapels of his blazer to hold him steady. "Can I help?"

He shakes his head. He has no capacity to use his words right now. He's far too engulfed with fear.

Blaine cradles Sebastian's cheek, his thumb dragging along the slick of tears he hadn't even realised had slipped down his skin. "I'm here for you," Blaine whispers before he returns to his spot on the couch.

It's difficult to find his rhythm again. The interruption to his pacing has jarred his concentration. The knowledge of damp trails on his cheeks makes him aware that his hands are shaking and his heart rate is leaping and his breathing is uneven. His renewed attempt at pacing falters, his steps turning into stumbles. When he can barely stand up, he falls to the couch and presses into Blaine's side. His face gets hidden by Blaine's chest as sobs seize his chest all over again. He thought he'd drained himself hours ago.

Blaine's fingers stroke through his hair to curl around the back of his neck. His thumb digs in with soothing circles. Like the last time he'd broken down in Blaine's arms, the gesture helps unspool some of his upset.

"What happens if she survives?" Blaine says against his ear as he slowly rocks Sebastian back and forth and his fingers roam constantly against his back, his neck, his hair. "Will you take her to the park in the summer and fly a kite with her? What stories will you read her at bedtime? What costume will you make her wear when you go trick-or-treating at Halloween? Which cartoons will you watch on Saturday morning?"

His heart aches with the images Blaine forces into his mind. They're the pictures he hasn't dared to imagine because it gives him hope and he's always been too scared to hope. If he has hope and it all goes wrong, he's pretty sure he'll be destroyed beyond recognition.

It's a struggle to contain his emotions as he clings to Blaine's shirt as if it's the only thing which will stop him from drowning. "D-Don't," he gasps out, shaking his head against Blaine's chest. He can't bear the thoughts Blaine offers him. He can so easily turn Blaine's words negative – what happens if she's not alive in the summer to fly a kite, or read bedtime stories to, or go trick-or-treating at Halloween with, or watch Saturday morning cartoons?

"Stop thinking the worst," Blaine murmurs, pressing his thumb against a particularly sensitive spot on the side of his neck that makes his shoulders tremble. "Stop thinking that you're going to lose her. She's a fighter, just like you."

He wants to believe it, every part of his body wants to believe it, but he can't because he's too afraid about what will happen if she doesn't make it. He feels as though he'd start running from the hospital and keep going until he found Terry and drank until he died. The thoughts are so dark that he doesn't want to entertain them too much. He doesn't want to think about the shattering heartbreak.

He cries against Blaine until his eyes are too dry, too worn out, to shed tears and all he has left are weak, breathless, tearless sobs. Blaine eases him down, letting him curl into his lap again and Hunter drapes the blanket over his body with a brief squeeze to his shoulder. He tries to draw comfort from Blaine's steady hand moving through his hair but his mind is spinning through a thousand negative and ten positive things and it's impossible to concentrate.

Time ticks by. The only reason he's aware of it moving is because he can feel his heart giving a slow pound against his ribcage, bruising his bones with the strength of how much his heart hurts. He wonders what Lillian's heart looks like, how small it might be, how damaged it is. He wonders if you can tell it doesn't work properly from the outside or if you have to dissect it to understand. He remembers the frog his lab partner, Mark, dissected in Biology a couple of months ago. He remembers looking at the tiny chambers of its heart and thinking about Lillian's heart. He'd gotten so upset that he'd refused to complete the task and walked out. Now though… Now he wonders what sort of deformities you could see in Lillian's heart after it had been removed from her body like little Kermit's had been.

At some point, Hunter takes out his phone and starts fiddling with it again. Sebastian's not sure if he's texting people or playing games but he doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to think about the potential for pitying looks if Hunter has been telling Warbler members what's going on. Are strangers in a musical group with his roommate likely to try hugging him? Or shaking his hand? Or reaching out to him when he'll want to pull away? Will their interest in him be genuine or artificial because they thrive on gossip like public schoolers?

No, he doesn't want to know if Hunter's messaging people because he doesn't want to think that Hunter is messaging people about  _him_.

"Seb." Blaine's urgent voice penetrates his anxiety as his shoulder gets shaken. " _Seb_. Sit up."

He blinks up at the boy which breaks his staring contest with the wall. Blaine's hands help raise him and keep him steady when the waiting room spins around him. Once he can see straight, it only takes him a fraction of a second to understand why Blaine had sounded so panicked.

He recognises Charlie Hopper immediately. After years of being in and out of his office for appointments with Lillian cuddled into Sebastian's lap, after years of seeing him monitor Lillian and run numerous tests on her, after years of watching him deliver good news and bad after surgeries, he recognises his sister's cardiologist. Charlie lingers by the door, dressed in clean, dark green scrubs with a pink cap covered in monkeys hiding his curly blonde hair. His white lab coat has a rainbow pin on it and below that a star. He looks fresh-faced and well-rested, not a man that's just performed life-saving surgery for the past God-only-knew how many hours.

Sebastian is on his feet in an instant, skittering away from Blaine and Hunter to approach the doctor. He gazes at Charlie desperately, trying to read his expression which is about as neutral as he's ever seen it. He's no longer sure he's breathing. He can feel Hunter moving to stand beside him and wishes he had Blaine's hand to hold.

He can hear the hurried footsteps of his parents moving through the room, their harried voices calling Charlie's name, but he doesn't care because everything slows to a fraction of normal speed. Every heartbeat can be heard louder than anything else around him. Every breath can be felt scraping the insides of his lungs. Every whistle and beep and whoosh of every piece of medical equipment in the entire hospital narrows down to this one moment.

Charlie's eyes meet his and he gives the tiniest of nods.

Sebastian nearly collapses.

"Charlie? Charlie!" His mother almost runs straight into Charlie, grabbing him by the shoulders and practically shaking the doctor out of his coat. "What is- Is she- How-"

Charlie catches Amelia's hands and holds them between his own. His blue eyes are intent as they meet Amelia's panicked stare. "She's in recovery, Mia," Charlie says and she draws one hand away to cover her mouth as a pained sob gurgles in her throat. "You know as well as I do that she's not out of the woods yet, but this is an enormous step on her path out of them."

Sebastian turns to press himself into Hunter's arms only because he doesn't have the strength to wobble over to Blaine and sink into his embrace right now. He can smell Hunter's cologne and soap, and the generic detergent used by the school when their uniforms get laundered each week. It's not as familiar as Lillian's scent and his hugs aren't as comforting as Blaine's, but Hunter's arms are strong enough to keep him upright and his hands smooth over Sebastian's back when his roommate feels how badly he's shaking.

Somewhere behind him, he can hear his mother sobbing and thanking Charlie. He can hear the gruff breaths of his father as he probably attempts to rein in his tears. He wishes he cared about how he looked but he doesn't. He clutches Hunter because if he lets go, he's pretty sure he'd end up in a tangled heap on the floor again.

"You will probably be able to see her in recovery in about a half hour," Charlie says. The words sound distant to Sebastian because all he can really think about is that Blaine was right: Lillian's  _alive_. It's almost too much to process. "She'll be on a ventilator for a couple of days to take the stress off the heart. We'll be monitoring her very closely in the CICU rather than the PICU this time, at least for the next couple of weeks. But we'll talk about all that later, okay?"

Sebastian can feel his knees beginning to buckle under the strain of staying on his feet. The past four years has led to this. The past four years has led to his sister getting a transplant. The past four years has led to his sister surviving the surgery. Lillian might be okay. Lillian might be able to lead a normal life for the next decade or two and maybe by then, some new procedure will have come along or maybe they'll have to source her a new heart but for now… For now, Lillian is alive and has another chance at living.

Hunter's arms shift around his waist when he begins to crumple, gripping him so tightly he fears his roommate might crack a rib. "Okay, Seb... Come on," Hunter mutters, guiding him to the sofa. He sinks to the cushions and allows Blaine's arms to curl around his shoulders, pulling him closer until he has the skin of Blaine's neck to tuck his face into.

"I  _told_  you so," Blaine whispers into his ear and he manages the softest of tearful laughs and a kiss to beneath Blaine's jaw. His fingers tangle into Blaine's cardigan while Hunter's hand clasps his shoulder.

_Lillian's going to be okay._

There's really nothing else that matters to him right now

* * *

Marcus the nurse enters the waiting room a little over half an hour later to take family to see Lillian. Sebastian separates himself from Blaine's arms and rises to his feet. His relief that Lillian would be okay had given way to a crushing numbness about ten minutes ago. He hopes the blank feeling is only because he's emotionally worn out.

His parents are on their feet too, closer to the door, closer to Marcus. The nurse looks over their shoulder at him and gives a nod – is he in league with Therese too? – when his father turns around with a fierce glare marring his face.

And it's only then, only when his father has a look so angry that it could incinerate a frozen tree, that he understands.

Going to Dalton hadn't been about placing him in an environment where he could be kept safe. Going to Dalton hadn't been about the convenience of reducing the cooking and cleaning and washing up. Going to Dalton hadn't been about ensuring he was taking care of himself – or that other people were taking care of him. Going to Dalton hadn't been about his parents needing to invest greater time in Lillian's health so they wanted to make sure he was still okay.

Going to Dalton had been because he wasn't wanted as a member of the family anymore.

"I… I'll go later," he mumbles, wilting under his father's expression and stepping back. He collides with Hunter's outstretched hand and it stings his singed nerves.

Marcus offers a weak smile when he follows Sebastian's parents out of the room but he's too busy struggling to comprehend the rejection he's just felt with a single look. For months, he'd been trying to understand the dynamics of his parents and why he'd been so isolated at Dalton and now he gets  _why_  there's been so much isolation but he doesn't get why it's coming from his  _father_.

It had been clear earlier that his father hadn't wanted him here but he doesn't recall ever being so rude to his father that it would warrant  _this_  level of hostility in their relationship,  _this_  sort of severance to their relationship. His father had never really been around enough in recent years for them to have proper conversations. There'd been a time a few years ago that Sebastian wondered if his father was having an affair because of all the late nights.

"Sebastian?" Therese's hand comes out of nowhere to settle on his bicep firmly. "How about we sit down?"

Her tone is similar to the one she'd used earlier with his father. He feels powerless to resist it. He's torn in too many directions.

She takes him to a different chair, away from Blaine and Hunter who are scrutinising him. He hadn't wanted them to see the frosty relationship he has with his parents. It's shameful and disgusting and he lowers his head to stare at the floor. An ache settles in the middle of his chest, filling him with pulsing bursts of agonising pain.

"Do you know what to expect when you see Lillian?" Therese asks, the cushions of the couch dipping beside him when she sits. Her hand drags slowly over his back, vaguely motherly, vaguely comforting, vaguely adding to his hurt.

At first, he nods. Then he realises he's not so sure so he shakes his head. Then he figures he probably has some idea but maybe not the  _whole_  idea so he settles on a shrug.

"Wires. Tubes. Sleepy disorientation. Same as any other time," he murmurs, folding his trembling fingers into a tight knot as he swallows the urge to cry. Lillian will be okay.  _Lillian will be okay_. But he has other pressing feelings and thoughts and maybe Therese has answers. "Did you- Did you know my parents were…?"

"I knew they'd shut you out," Therese says gently and his head lowers further. Did  _everyone_  in the hospital know and his parents had deliberately left him out of the loop? Did they think that ignoring him would make them forget his entire existence? "I'd…heard rumours you were abusing alcohol and they didn't want you to be around Lillian. They thought you'd be a bad influence on her recovery."

He grimaces but doesn't attempt to deny her words. He's too exhausted to lie. He's too emotional to spin elaborate stories. He's too drained to wave away concerned questions with a smile. At a time like this, he has none of his usual bravado to draw on and, quite probably, Therese would see straight through him anyway.

The realisation that his parents  _had_  deliberately alienated him doesn't just leave him feeling vulnerable to the words of others – it leaves him feeling totally exposed to the damage they could inflict on him. The look his father had given was enough to drop him to the ground and shatter him into a million pieces.

"It was late January when I asked your mother how you were. I hadn't seen you around for a couple of weeks and I knew you visited Lillian regularly when they weren't here. We were working a shift together and she looked away and shrugged. She moved some patient files around and said she was sure you were doing fine." Therese pauses and Sebastian turns his head to look at her. She presses her lips together as she watches him for a moment. "I forced the issue. I wanted to know why she was 'sure' of it rather than actually  _knowing_ , and she said she had a sick daughter to worry about and a son she couldn't take care of anymore. I didn't understand what she meant at the time."

He covers his mouth in an attempt to stop the pain he feels escaping into the air and infecting everyone around him. His father's coldness had been obvious but, he realises, his father had at least  _done_  something today. His mother had been completely absent, wrapped up in her grief and forgetting he was there entirely.

Therese's words pierce through all his exposed layers and sink directly into his heart.

Therese smiles sympathetically, her hand stilling between his shoulder blades. "So I quietly passed word around the hospital that if you visited Lillian, we weren't going to tell Amelia. If we knew you were in the building and heard that your parents were approaching the PICU, then someone had to delay her and get word to whoever was at the nurse's station to tell you to leave ASAP."

He stares at her. He's still in agony but he's also utterly dumbfounded.

"I have no doubt that the talk of your underage habits were told by your mother to someone else, who gossiped about it to someone else. So I might have played dirty by passing around my own rumours that I thought your parents weren't taking an active interest in your welfare since you'd been placed in a boarding school." Therese has a grin on her face that borders on smug. He can't tell if he's impressed or appalled by her actions. "I'm not wrong, am I?"

He opens his mouth to say something but ends up shaking his head, looking away as he grits his teeth together. It hurts more than he wants to admit that she's right.

"I didn't… I had no idea it was that bad with them," he eventually admits, scratching at a spot on his arm for something to do to keep his hands busy. It's turned faintly pink by the time Therese's hand covers his to stop his movements. "They haven't…spoken to me since they left me there and that was… That was the beginning of January."

"Oh Seb," Therese breathes, drawing him into a hug that makes him hurt all the way down to his bones. "I could make excuses about their behaviour because of Lillian's health, but that's not fair to you or her. You're their child too."

He snorts derisively and shrugs her arms off him. "I haven't been their child for a long time. I think that might have happened a long time before I ended up at Dalton," he mutters, glancing towards the door to see if anyone had come to collect him so he can visit Lillian.

"Is that…why you've been drinking?" Therese says cautiously, withdrawing her hands and mirroring the way he's sitting with her hands in her lap.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He doesn't want to talk about this. Therese has already admitted to spreading rumours and gossip, although they were ones which had helped him see Lillian unimpeded. She says she's on his side but…how much can he really trust her? It's not like he'd talk to his parents about this but, in light of how they apparently feel about him, he's not sure who he's meant to confide in. Blaine's his closest friend and Hunter is his roommate but they're still only teenagers too. How much can they help him if he fragments into even more pieces? The reaction of his father this afternoon is crushing and he aches for something to take away the pain.

"It hasn't just been drinking," he confesses, tapping his feet against the floor nervously as he glances at her and then away again. "It took away the hurt. I didn't have to think anymore."

Therese reaches for his hands and holds onto them firmly. He doesn't attempt to pull away from them this time. There's something in her actions which is so supportive that he feels oddly comforted and doesn't want to let go. "Have you been referred to any sort of programs?"

His blood runs cold as he looks at her, wanting to wrench his hands away and return to sitting with Blaine. "I'm not an alcoholic or an addict or anything," he says sharply, his heart beating quickly in his chest. "Dalton has forced me into sobriety."

Her eyes scan his face, her mouth pressing into a thin line. "So even though you haven't been using for the past four months, it hasn't been on your mind? When it all gets too hard, you don't immediately wish for a fix to help it all go away?"

He opens his mouth to respond before he's forced to close it and looks to the door again.  _Bitch_ , he thinks. He can't argue with a nurse that probably knows a lot about a variety of medical conditions. "I don't have access to it anyway," he mutters, as if that's enough to quench his desires. She's wrong too, though he won't correct her. He  _has_  used in the past four months and he's itchy all over to use again.

As if she knows his thoughts, as if she can understand, Therese squeezes his hands. "That's only one part of the equation, Seb. I can't force you to do anything but will you at least let me give you some pamphlets the next time you come to the hospital?"

His nose wrinkles at the thought that he needs to get  _pamphlets_ on how to sort himself out, yet he can accept that she's only trying to help and some of his anger ebbs away. He knows his habits are incredibly dangerous. The breakdown he barely remembers in the park a few weeks ago is enough proof that he can get terribly wasted and in a horrible mental place. Summer holidays are barely six weeks away and  _then_  what was going to happen? Where was he going to go? Home to parents that couldn't stand him? Home to where he could get hooked up with Terry's supplies every day?

" _Fine_ ," he relents, if only to make Therese happy. He stares down at his hands again and realises he'll have to find somewhere safe in his room that Hunter won't find the stupid pamphlets. He doesn't need any problem he has to become something Hunter's nosiness takes a great interest in. Hunter is already all over him like a bad rash sometimes.

"Do you have people to go to when you're upset?" Therese asks, brushing her thumb over the back of his hand. "A safe place to get away when things get problematic at home?"

He laughs, something soft and dry and scratchy in his throat. "Why do you think I get so wasted?" he challenges, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

She nods and gives him another small smile. "How about I give you my number and address so if something goes wrong at home or at school, you give me a call and spend some time at my place?" Therese offers, pressing an index finger to beneath his chin so she can turn his head. Her own tilts, as if to appraise him carefully. "I've got a son a little older than you and twin girls a few years younger than Lillian. You could play video games with him or Barbies with the girls if you wanted. It's just so you have somewhere  _else_  to go."

He squints at her because he'd always assumed Therese to be in her fifties, but somehow the maths of twins younger than Lillian doesn't really add up in his head. Maybe she's younger than he'd always thought. But then again, she has a son a little older than him…

"I realise there's no guarantees you'll show, Seb. I'm just giving you an option if you ever need it," Therese says, perhaps misreading the look he gives her for one of distrust.

Sebastian's pretty sure his mother would hit the roof if she knew he'd absconded from his house and gone to one of her colleague's – especially one that has been spreading rumours around their workplace about his mother's care for him – but he can't deny that having other options is probably a good thing. He doesn't yet know what's going to happen in the summer. Maybe his parents won't even want him home. Maybe he'll stay at Dalton. Maybe if he can't, they'll shove him in a hotel or offload him to his grandparents. Maybe they won't even think about how it's summer holidays because they'll be too wrapped up in Lillian's recovery.

Which means that maybe having Therese as an option is the smartest move possible when everything is so uncertain.

"Okay," he says, passing his phone to her so she can enter in her details. He glances over to Blaine and Hunter, who are pointedly looking away in an effort to offer them some privacy. He finds himself fidgeting while he waits for her, not quite sure where to look. "Thank you for…for looking out for me the past few months," he says hesitantly, nipping at his bottom lip. "I had no idea there was such an underground network going on."

Therese laughs and then curses when her fingers make a mistake. "Some of us have been here long enough to remember when Amelia was pregnant with you. We remember you toddling into work with her and being fascinated with sticking plasters all over your face or crying when it was immunisation time." She hands the phone back to him with her home and mobile numbers listed as well as her address. "You're as much Amelia's child as our own, Seb. We look out for you because we know it's been a hard four years on your whole family and it's not hard to see that when you ask Mia a question, it's all about Lillian and never about you."

It hurts to hear that his mother is as obsessed with Lillian at work as she is at home, especially at the expense of his own acknowledgement, but he's not surprised. He's pretty sure he hasn't been thought of by either of his parents for years. He's not sure anything will ever hurt more than the empty house at Christmas, although his father's attitude today has come pretty close.

"That network will be here for you, day and night, if you ever need it, Sebastian," Therese says, her hand wrapping around his wrist firmly. "You've got a lot of people who care about you here and it's just unfortunate none of us realised how badly you were struggling or how isolated you'd become from your parents when you were at home."

He offers a weak smile, unwilling to accept that things had really gotten so out of control. The pressure of her hand increases briefly before she draws away.

"Do you want them there when you visit Lillian?"

He blinks at the sudden change in topic, surprised she would even suggest something like that. He's not sure he wants to be anywhere near his parents even though he wants to see Lillian more than anything right now. "Is that even possible?"

She grins and pats his knee, something that might almost seem condescending but instead just seems conspiratorial. "I can click my fingers and make anything happen in this hospital, Seb," she says and Sebastian thinks he might just believe her. Therese appears to hold an unexpectedly large amount of power. "I'll get Charlie to pull them away to discuss post-operative care and her options for returning home. Does that sound like a good excuse to give you and Lillian some time together?"

"Sounds amazing," he breathes, feeling awed and disbelieving that anyone would go to such lengths for him. The acceptance of people at Dalton is still fleeting due to his minimal engagement with anyone, but Therese has known him since he was a baby. He'd always suspected there was an underground network at the hospital, but he'd thought it was geared towards tattling on his movements to his mother not protecting him.

"She's probably going to be in an induced coma for a few days, so don't expect to hold a conversation with her or cuddle into bed with her like you've been doing despite hospital policy," Therese says, her voice jokingly stern as she gives him a wink. "But I'm sure she'd love to hear your voice and have you hold her hand. She adores you."

He smiles, feeling his cheeks flush as he looks away. It's nice to be reassured that he matters to Lillian as much as his sister matters to him. "I adore her," he says softly.

"That's exactly why I'll find Charlie and give him the heads up." She pats his knee again. "Take care of yourself, Sebastian. And if you need me for  _anything_ , you give me a call. Got it?"

"Thank you," he says, honestly overwhelmed by her extensive generosity. She smiles and departs to find his sister's cardiologist.

It's only when he's alone that the conversation starts to sink in. He guesses the best way to describe his feelings about the entire situation is dazed.

He glances at Blaine and Hunter. Stomach somersaulting with nerves, he pulls his phone from his pocket to send a brief message before Marcus enters the room and draws him away from dwelling too long on his disbelief and confusion about Therese's abilities in the hospital.

"Sebastian?"

He rises on feet that feel unsteady, perhaps as the weight of what he's about to see settles on his shoulders. He offers Blaine and Hunter a smile that he hopes doesn't look too pained or too scared and follows Marcus out of the room. The nurse leads him down a corridor where they pause before some double doors, a bottle of disinfectant gel and disposable face mask waiting for him. He recognises the process and his heart does a flip. Lillian will spend the rest of her life trying to avoid any and all illnesses because of the immune-suppression drugs.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Marcus says as Sebastian rubs the gel over the entirety of his hands and wrists, hoping to kill every bug that might linger on his flesh, before he pulls on the mask.

"I'll be fine," he murmurs, needing time and space to be with Lillian. He's grieved most of the day but he needs a moment to let his guard down, to breathe on his own without someone hovering over him because they're afraid he'll go to pieces. He follows Marcus past rows of curtained beds until they reach a small room with a closed door. It hurts to think Lillian is still separated from everyone even though he understands the risks she's facing.

"I'll let you know when your parents are going to come back," Marcus says with a short squeeze to his shoulder before he walks away.

Sebastian finds himself wondering if Marcus is part of the secret network Therese has set up too.

He inhales deeply, attempting to calm himself, attempting to steel himself against what he'll see, before he pushes open the door. He can't help the immediate rush of tears that bead in the corners of his eyes as he takes in Lillian's tiny form, surrounded by enormous machines that beep and whistle and whoosh. It's difficult to move away from the door because a part of him just wants to turn and flee. He does, eventually, manage to step inside and shut the door behind him before he approaches the bed.

"Hey, Lils," he whispers, struggling to lean in and find a spot on her forehead to kiss. His hand carefully works beneath hers to hold, gripping her tiny fingers with as much strength as he can. He tries not to be upset that her hand is limp within his as he looks at her. He's seen her like this before, hooked up to the heart monitors and the ventilators and the IV machines, and even though the prognosis is better this time, it's still terrifying to him. She looks so small, so capable of disintegrating and disappearing. Knowing that she has someone else's heart in her chest now and her body is trying to learn how to use it is pretty weird too.

"You'd better get so much healthier now, Lillian Marie Smythe," he says quietly but firmly, dragging a chair closer so he can sit and grip her hand within his. He listens to the regular beeps around him and tries not to think too much that it's someone  _else's_ heart beating. It makes his stomach churn. "You scared the absolute hell out of me today and I don't want you doing that again."

He runs his thumb over her knuckles, wondering if her skin seems paler than usual or if it's just the fluorescent lights overhead. She seems almost translucent and he has no idea if that's normal after a heart transplant. Maybe she lost a lot of blood during the operation? Or maybe the lights in her PICU room have been so low lately that her months without sunlight has caused the change?

"I love you, Lils. I love you and I…" His voice cracks as fresh tears start to spill down his cheeks, his eyes itching again because his tear ducts have clearly worked overtime today. "Mom and Dad… They don't- They don't even  _know_  what you know but Dad can't… He was so  _mad_ , Lillian. He didn't want me here for you and I…" He sniffles and wipes at his cheeks with the sleeve of his blazer. "They don't love me as much as you. I always thought it but it hurt too much to think about and…and now I  _know_  it and I just…"

He lowers his head, his shoulders trembling as he clings to her hand and listens to the bleep and whirr of the machines, trying to draw comfort from the fact that she's okay, she's alive and she survived her heart transplant surgery. "No matter what happens, no…no matter what they tell you or…what they do to me or our relationship, I'll always be your brother, Lils," he murmurs, kissing the knuckles of her hand gently and pressing it to his forehead. It feels like he's saying a prayer by her bedside, as if he's preparing himself for her inevitable death. "And I will care for you and fight for you, even if…even if I'm fighting  _them_  to do so because you're worth it and _…we're_  worth it _."_

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket and sneaks a peek at the screen. He's got fifteen minutes. He has no idea if his parents are retuning sooner rather than later, but he knows he won't be here much longer. He has no intention of another confrontation with his father by Lillian's bedside.

"I love you, Lillian." He stands and leans over the bed to kiss her forehead again, smoothing a few strands of pale blonde hair from her face. She looks barely recognisable beneath the oxygen mask that takes up such a huge portion of her face. "Get better, little angel. I need to hear you call me a dumbass again."

He watches her for a minute, memorising as many details as he can of her face – the dark circles beneath her eyes, her sunken and sallow cheeks, the prominence of her forehead and jaw, the smattering of freckles across her skin which mirror his – and praying that she'll heal, she'll get better, she'll get out of here. He carefully lowers her hand back to the hospital bed and leaves without a backwards glance. He's said his piece and he doesn't want to be anywhere near his parents right now. Another confrontation might just push him past his limits of being able to cope with the emotional rollercoaster of the day that seems to have stretched on for weeks.

He re-enters the waiting room and wanders over to where he left Blaine and Hunter. They both sit up straighter as he approaches, Hunter sliding his phone into his blazer pocket.

"You saw her?" Blaine says as he sits, immediately moving to run his fingers through Sebastian's probably haphazard hair.

He nods, leaning into Blaine's comforting embrace because he's not sure he has the words right now to express what she looked like. It will be an image that will haunt his nightmares for months, regardless of the fact she's on the mend. Blaine's fingers scratch against his scalp gently, rhythmically, and it gradually slows the frantic tattoo of his heart against his ribcage.

"I need to leave soon," he says, raising his eyes to meet Hunter's and trying not to look uncomfortable, like he has something to hide. "I don't want to have another fight with them today so it's easier to leave quickly."

Hunter nods and Sebastian tries to pretend it's not as scrutinising as it seems. "Fair enough," his roommate concedes.

"I need to…" He draws away from Blaine, the lies twisting around his tongue and making him feel a little ashamed. He hopes that the stress of the day, or seeing Lillian, is enough for him to explain why he's so scattered. "I need to go for a little walk and just…clear my head before we get a taxi back to school. Meet you where we got dropped off in 20?"

Hunter nods again. "I need to find a bathroom anyway."

Sebastian gives him some directions to the nearest toilet. He watches his roommate depart before he turns his attention to Blaine.

"Are you going to be okay?" the boy asks immediately, cupping his cheeks with both hands to maintain eye contact when all he wants to do is hide his face. Maybe that's why Blaine beats him to it.

"I'll do better than if the transplant hadn't been successful," he mumbles, leaning in to kiss Blaine's cheek. "Thank you for being here today. I would have lost my mind."

Blaine's cheeks turn pink and his eyes seem distant when he strokes some of the hair from Sebastian's face. "I told you I wouldn't have been anywhere else. I told you I'd be here for you.

Sebastian reaches up to remove Blaine's hand from his face and squeezes it tightly, determined to make Blaine understand how important having such a friend had been today. "I still appreciate it, B."

Blaine smiles shyly but squeezes back. "Call me soon, okay? And I'll try to get info from Therese on how Lillian is doing if your parents won't tell you."

He smiles weakly at the suggestion that his parents will continue to keep him in the dark. He distracts himself by dragging his fingertips over the back of Blaine's left hand. He can tell it's started to regain some normal movement and definition with all the physical therapy Blaine's been doing. "I wouldn't count on them telling me anything, but I also have Therese's number to call. She'll probably tell me stuff."

Blaine raises his eyebrows, the questions so obvious they're practically embossed on his forehead, but Sebastian shakes his head. He doesn't want to explain right now. He's not even sure he'll ever want to explain either.

"I need to get some fresh air. I'll tell an orderly you're here?"

Blaine sighs and lets his fingers twist with Sebastian's, as if he's unwilling to let Sebastian go further than a foot away. "I wish I could go on the walk with you."

Sebastian hopes his face looks suitably disappointed enough that Blaine can't. He knows one day – maybe during the summer – he'll go on lots of walks with Blaine and they'll enjoy the sunshine together. "I just need some alone time because people at Dalton will probably be all over me. You  _know_  Hunter will bug the hell out of me."

Blaine smiles slightly and gives his hand another squeeze. "True. Just take care of yourself, okay?"

"I'll do my best," he says, knowing he's lying again and again, coating his tongue and filling his throat with the lies that will make him sick. He brushes a kiss to Blaine's temple and grabs his bag from the floor. He has to repeatedly tell himself not to turn around when he can feel Blaine's eyes on him.

He tells the first orderly he sees about Blaine, who promises to arrange a wheelchair immediately. He rides the elevator to ground level and checks his phone again, speeding up his steps when he notices the time. He passes a few nurses and a doctor who he's pretty sure must know what's going on from the sympathetic looks on their faces. Knowing there's definitely some sort of network here hoping to protect him from his parents makes him more paranoid than usual, because now he's unsure about who knows and what they know and who is supportive of him and who isn't.

He steps outside to see the sun fading behind the horizon. It's like the whole day has disappeared in the anxious wait for answers. The timing suits him well though, cloaking him in darkness and secrecy as he turns to his left and starts walking around the hospital, past the closed café and the empty day care and the half-filled parking lot until he's almost at the edge of the hospital grounds where it runs off into the grove of trees he'd glimpsed from Blaine's room several months ago. The trees have started to come alive again, thickening with green blooms, and act perfectly as a cover.

Hidden just past the first row of trees is Terry.

"You look like shit," Terry comments with a wry grin, pulling him in for a hug that is unexpected but also oddly welcome. Terry doesn't need to know what's going on but it's nice that his friend recognises his need for support.

He grimaces at the comment on his appearance and hugs Terry back, trying not to be too clingy with someone that usually looks down on him like the teenage boy that he is. "Hospitals aren't for the healthy, man," he muses and Terry draws away, eyeing him warily.

"Not for you, I hope?"

"Nah. Family stuff." He shrugs, trying to play it off. He doesn't want to think about how close his sister's possible death had come to ruining him completely, how many hours he cried and panicked waiting for news. "You work fast."

"I always have some supplies kicking around," Terry says, his gaze still scrutinising Sebastian and making him feel uncomfortable. His expression reminds him of Hunter trying to see past all his defensive layers when Sebastian doesn't want to be examined. "Your uniform is weird, bro."

He laughs, even though he doesn't want to, and Terry grins. Maybe Terry had just been considering his ridiculous outfit. "I miss my own clothes."

"Yeah. The blazer? Totally not befitting someone who hangs out in the park with us," Terry teases before he drops to the backpack by his feet and withdraws the brown bag with two clinking bottles inside.

He sees it as his salvation, his chance to forget everything tonight if he can just get Hunter the hell out of their room. He reaches for his bag, passes a twenty from his wallet, and then starts shifting textbooks and exercise books and his pencil case around so he can squeeze them inside. There's no way Hunter wouldn't be immediately suspicious of why he's carrying a brown paper bag with glass inside it if he saw it. He  _has_  to sneak it inside.

Terry folds the note into his own wallet before withdrawing a joint. "You want a couple of hits? Take the edge off before you go back?"

Sebastian's gaze lingers on it, wondering how badly he'd smell and how much Hunter would pick up on it. He'd love to feel the tingles in the tips of his fingers, the floating carelessness as the high sets in, but he's pretty sure any scent that lingers on his uniform would spell big fucking trouble with James. He can't afford to lose weekend privileges so carelessly.

"I'd fucking love to, but if I get busted…" He sighs and zips up his bag, concealing the only options he has right now. His bag is far heavier than it had been but it's still a lighter burden than the one he'd been carrying all day. "My ass would be toast, T."

"Fair call." Terry slips the joint into his wallet and tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans. "You going to be alright?"

He wonders what it is about his expression that gives so much away. Maybe his eyes are swollen and red. Maybe his cheeks still have traces of tears. Maybe his lips look bitten raw. Maybe his skin looks as drained as he feels.

"I'll be fine," he assures, offering a fist bump to Terry who returns it before they split up and walk in opposite directions.

Hunter isn't waiting for him by the entrance which is perfect for Sebastian to organise a cab and settle in first. He's pretty sure he hears the faint clink of the bottles as he eases inside and knows he'll have to be very careful when they return to school so his roommate doesn't suspect anything.

"I got  _lost_ ," Hunter explains when he finally folds himself into the car five minutes after he was meant to. He's huffing faintly and Sebastian wonders where he'd been running from. He knows Hunter isn't  _that_  unfit to get puffed easily. "That place is insanely confusing."

Sebastian's not sure he's ever gotten lost inside but he supposes that after he'd pretty much grown up within its sterile white walls, it would be a concern if he did. A concern of the Alzheimer's variety, probably. "Congratulations on making it out alive," he jokes and Hunter shoots him a mock glare.

The driver this time expects payment so Hunter hands over his card after a short protest from Sebastian. He's glad for it, mostly because he doesn't have enough cash after paying Terry and not knowing how much he has in his bank account – his parents might have emptied it for all he knew. IT doesn't lessen the feeling that he's accepting some level of charity though. He doesn't like it.

He moves his bag carefully as they exit the car, falling into step beside Hunter on the walk to their room.

"Do you think you could give me some space tonight?" Sebastian asks, crossing his fingers inside the pockets of his blazers. "It's just…been such a long day that I really need some time to myself to unwind."

He knows Hunter is looking at him and tries to focus on keeping his eyes ahead of him or on the floor, not wanting anything in his expression to betray his actual intentions. "Your twenty minute walk around the hospital wasn't enough?"

"I'll knock you out cold if you'd rather be there," Sebastian says, knowing he'd be totally prepared to tie Hunter down and stuff his mouth with dirty socks to keep him silent but hoping it won't come to that. "Please?"

"You're not going to do anything stupid like rip the room apart and trash it, are you?" Hunter says as they ascend a flight of stairs towards the dorms. "I've got some valuable stuff in there."

He snorts and shakes his head, knowing that's the last thing he plans on doing. If he doesn't have to leave his bed for the next week, he'll be content. "I'm used to having my own space so I can breathe after stuff like this has happened in the past, Hunter," he says, glancing around to ensure no one else is within hearing range. It's not like this is the first time Lillian's had a major health scare, but he doesn't really feel like filling in the past four years. "I don't need to be watched like a fucking lab experiment all night. I'm not going to explode."

Hunter is still watching him. It's confirmed when his roommate nearly trips up the stairs and barely manages to catch himself on the railing in time. "Fine," Hunter concedes with a tilt of his head once they resume walking, attempting to act as if he hadn't just yelped in an embarrassingly high pitch that had made Sebastian smirk. "I'll go to Wes' so you'll know where I am."

The tension in his chest that maybe Hunter wouldn't acquiesce to his request unknots and they lapse into silence as they approach their room. Hunter unlocks it, deposits his bag on the floor, and starts gathering a handful of books he'll apparently need for a night with Montgomery.

Sebastian stays cautiously silent, not wanting to open his mouth and say anything that might make Hunter suspicious of him. Lying to Blaine had been bad enough, and Blaine won't be anywhere near him to fuss. He doesn't need Hunter starting to doubt his need for space and breaking down the door later.

"So what are you planning on doing with all your free time?" Hunter asks casually, folding a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt into a gym bag.

Well fuck.

He shrugs and loosens his tie and shoelaces, realising that his anxiety to ensure Hunter left the room means he hasn't properly begun shedding clothes yet, and his roommate knows how much he hates being in the uniform. He supposes that his distraction could easily be attributed to the stress of the day though.

He thinks quickly about possible plans and how he can explain any reasons for why he won't hear someone knocking at the door if Hunter  _does_  drop by. "Probably listen to music or watch a movie and have an early night," he says, removing his blazer from his shoulders and draping it over his desk chair. "Take some time to process everything." At least  _that_  part isn't a lie.

"I'll be just down the hall if you need anything," Hunter says, zipping up his bag and hauling it over his shoulders. Sebastian feels like saying he only needs a  _night_  and Hunter doesn't have to take half his bookshelf but maybe Hunter's way of dealing with the day was immersing himself in his studies.

"I'll be fine. Thanks though," he says with a tired smile that Hunter returns before he departs the room.

And finally,  _finally_ , Sebastian has some space to breathe.

He takes the time to hide one of the bottles in the bottom of his desk drawer and then organises a change of clothes for after his shower. He deliberates on what to do with the second bottle before finally deciding to take it into the bathroom with him. He sips from it as he waits for the water to heat up, and intermittently sips when the water isn't doing enough to wash away the painful dregs of the day. He swallows some more while drying off and then while redressing. Before leaving the bathroom, he pauses and scopes out the room to ensure Hunter hasn't returned while he's been in the shower. Then he crawls into bed with the bottle to keep drinking until everything is fuzzy around the edges and the pain around his heart no longer burns. Or, at least, his stomach burns with the alcohol instead.

He manages a few more mouthfuls before the dizziness sets in and it's at that point that he feebly gets out of bed, hides the bottle in a different drawer of his desk from the first, and flops onto the mattress. He has no intention of watching a movie or listening to music but instead  _every_  intention of allowing the numbness of the alcohol to set in. He can only hope that he'll be whisked off to a sleep infused with enough brandy that he doesn't have any dreams of Lillian's ghostly, frail form dying in his arms.

* * *

**_~TBC~_ **


	16. Chapter 16

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
 **Word Count:** 9,107 **  
Summary:** Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. **  
** **Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
 **Warnings/Spoilers:**  Nothing more than usual.

* * *

It takes him a long few seconds when he wakes to figure out what it is that had woken him up.

His tongue is too large for his mouth and his throat feels dry. His eyes are so swollen they feel like they're about to bug out of his head. His bones feel infused with lead and his limbs must be disconnected from his spine because nothing cooperates with his command to move.

His stomach flips over and he feels like he might throw up.

"Seb?" Hunter's hand stills against his shoulder before moving to cup his face. "Come on, open your eyes for me."

He whines, fully aware of how pitiful he sounds, and attempts to tilt his head to burrow into the pillow. His brain throbs against the inner wall of his skull and he immediately regrets making the movement.

"Come on, Seb," Hunter repeats, coaxing his head from the fluffy support of the pillow and tracing a thumb over his cheekbone. It's far more comforting than he suspects he deserves. "Look at me."

It physically  _hurts_  when his eyebrows draw together across his forehead. His eyes partially open to see the blurry image of Hunter crouched by the side of his bed. He's barely able to make out the features of his roommate's face beyond the deep, dark frown and downturned lips. It doesn't make him feel any better.

"Are you sick?" Hunter asks, his hand moving to flatten against Sebastian's forehead and then his cheek. It reminds him of his mother checking his temperature when he was younger. "You look green."

"I-" His voice comes out as little more than a rasp, the sound crackling in his throat and the rest of his words sticking around Adam's apple. The itchy dryness of his eyes seems to be exacerbated by the wave of pain that smacks into his chest and makes him want to cry with pity for himself. "Water," he whispers.

Hunter nods and draws away, allowing Sebastian's eyes to slip shut again. He can hear the twist of a cap on a water bottle and the hiss of water in the bathroom and waits, too exhausted and pained to try moving. There's the faint pad of Hunter's socked feet on the carpet and then a side of the bed dips when Hunter sits down. He flinches when fingers creep along the back of his neck to encourage it to raise enough that he doesn't choke while swallowing on the water.

It's difficult to swallow but the water is heavenly as it dribbles into his mouth. He feels so dehydrated that his skin may as well be stretched taut around his muscles. The water tastes sweet, the temperature cool enough to soothe his throat as it slides down.

Hunter keeps the bottle steady, dripping water past his lips until he's had enough. When he leans away and slumps back to the pillows with his eyes struggling to open, Hunter removes the bottle. The bottle cap gets screwed on and he can a small rattle as it settles on the bedside table

"What did you take?" Hunter asks, his tone gentle but completely betraying his concern. His fingers scrape some of the hair from Sebastian's face as he sinks into the plush comfort of his pillow and mattress. "You took something, didn't you?"

"Fuck off," he mumbles, not wanting to hear the lecture right now. He's heard enough lectures from his parents when they'd noticed he hadn't been home in days. At the moment, he'd much prefer to sleep until his brain stops pounding with the strength of a techno club remix track booming from surround-sound speakers cranked to a decibel level that is horrifically damaging to every particle contained in a human body.

"I'm not leaving you  _now_ ," Hunter mutters, his thumb smoothing circles against Sebastian's temple. It helps to unwind some of his tension, reducing the pounding in his head to a more manageable level. His stomach still roils with nausea but that's certainly not likely to fade in a hurry. He manages a quiet sigh as the exhaustion and residual alcohol in his system lull him back to sleep.

* * *

He's not sure how long he slept but he feels slightly more like a human being when he wakes again. Hunter had apparently pulled up his chair to sit beside the bed, a book in his hands like always. Sometimes Sebastian wondered if Hunter read so much to remind him how inept he is at reading. He isn't sure his roommate would be so cruel as to rub his face into his difficulty but then again….

"Ah, he's back among the land of the living," Hunter murmurs, lowering his book and plucking the water bottle from the bedside table. He holds it out, an expectant look on his face. "Drink."

His accepts the bottle with shaky hands, feeling embarrassed when he struggles to unscrew the cap without fumbling it. He barely manages to raise it to his lips without spilling it all over himself and it becomes far too much of an effort, almost an unfortunate ordeal, simply to swallow some water. He can sense Hunter's eyes on him and he has no desire to repeat any of this in a hurry.

He swallows until his belly is sloshing with all the water and lack of food to soak it up. Once he's successfully fought to get the lid screwed on again, he lets the bottle roll onto the bed because he can't be bothered handing it over to Hunter. He manages to count to six before Hunter huffs in frustration at his lack of eye contact.

"You're hungover, right?" Hunter says after a few more seconds, his irritation apparently overflowing. The book snaps shut and Hunter leans forward in his chair. "Do I even want to ask where the alcohol came from?"

"No," he whispers, unsure which question he's even answering. His eyes aren't really feeling as itchy as before but he doesn't particularly want to see Hunter's smug or concerned face so he shuts them and reclines into his pillows. As much as he didn't want to hear a lecture before, he also doesn't want to deal with an interrogation now.

"Not asking then," Hunter concedes and Sebastian wonders why he's being let off the hook so easily. It's evident Hunter knows enough about hangovers to recognise them, which isn't exactly common in most freshmen Sebastian's ever met. It makes his curiosity twitch. "Is it a common thing?"

Sebastian half-opens his eyes and tilts his head towards his roommate. He has to stifle a yawn behind his hand which makes his question somewhat garbled: "Why is it so important to know?"

Hunter stares at him for a moment before he shrugs and looks down at the book in his lap. His index finger trails over the swirly text on the cover. "You scared me this morning, Seb. I- I couldn't wake you."

Sebastian's fairly sure he feels the room pause for a moment, an odd feeling of everything slowing down to fractions of a second while his head speeds on. He can't hope to catch up so instead he just frowns dumbly at Hunter. "Huh?"

"You heard me," Hunter says, quiet and uncertain. He shakes his head and stands, returning his chair to the other side of the room and placing the book on its precise spot on his desk.

"No, I-" Sebastian attempts to protest, struggling to sit up when his muscles feel like jelly. He groans when the world spins and swims in front of him. Instinctively, his hand cradles his aching head and he closes his eyes when his stomach threatens to expel the minimal water he's swallowed.

The bed dips as Hunter sits on the edge again. His fingertips touch to Sebastian's forehead and cheek, gauging a temperature Sebastian knows he isn't running.

"I knew I shouldn't have left you last night," Hunter says, his tone laden with remorse and disappointment. It's annoying enough that Sebastian bats his roommate's hand away and squints at him, trying to discern what's truth and what's not.

"You couldn't…wake me?" he repeats slowly. He could imagine Hunter playing him, scaring him with facts Sebastian couldn't deny so he'd own up to his actions. But…Hunter doesn't look like he's trying to spin stories. He doesn't look like he's deliberately manufacturing something with the intention of screwing Sebastian over and…it makes him feel cold.

"No," Hunter says, picking up the water bottle and extending it again. His gaze flickers with undisguised worry and Sebastian doesn't think he's ever seen his roommate look like that around anyone before. "I thought you had slipped into a coma or something. I must have spent at least five minutes trying to wake you. It was about the point that I started panicking and thought I should call Wes when you started to stir."

Sebastian sips from the water bottle because he needs something to do other than think about what happened while he was out cold. His stomach twists and flips in sickening lurches. He can't maintain eye contact with Hunter so he ends up looking down at his hands. He notices faint ripples in the water and realises it's because he's trembling.

Hunter must notice the same thing only fractions of a second later.

"Hey." Hunter's hands clasp loosely around his own, steadying him but not really comforting him. He feels too much fear right now. "Do you want me to call Blaine?"

"He… He'll be so mad," he whispers, a bubble of self-loathing lodging in his throat which makes him feel ill. His teeth skim against his lower lip, an urgency to fidget with something nearly overwhelming. He wishes he could take the edge off with something.

"You had a…a big day yesterday," Hunter says, carefully removing the bottle cap from his hands so he can secure the bottle and avoid it spilling all over the bed. Gradually, he peels it from Sebastian's hand and places it on the bedside table again. "Being upset is understandable, you know? Blaine's important to you. Even a blind guy would be able to see how much he helped you yesterday."

He scrunches his eyes shut and drags his fingers through his hair. He can't explain to Hunter that getting drunk is a pretty normal thing for him. He can't explain that Blaine also knows he also gets high. He can't explain that he met Terry because then he'd have to say how he organised it. He can't explain that he failed to reach out to Therese as well. It's painful recalling how Blaine begged him him to take care of himself, how Blaine had continuously asked if he was okay, and Sebastian had lied and betrayed Blaine's trust by actively seeking Terry out. Surrounded by people who wanted to help, Sebastian had deliberately pushed them away with a couple of text messages. Sebastian could imagine Blaine being furious at what he'd done, ultimately disappointed at Sebastian's extreme level of weakness and lack of self-control.

"You don't have to keep doing this alone," Hunter murmurs, brushing a hand against his shoulder towards his neck.

He cringes and shrugs it away, feeling undeserving and unwanted. He curls in on himself, folding his knees towards his chest and ignoring the tears that bead in the corners of his eyes. "Just because I… Just because you were there yesterday doesn't mean we're… _friends_  or anything," he says, looking towards his desk briefly. He wishes he could kick Hunter out and grab the bottle between his hands so he can drink until he's numb again. Not being able to feel seemed better than the fear and anger and hurt which was brewing in his veins. "You don't know me."

"Sebastian, I-"

"Go away, Clarington," he snaps, his defensiveness rising the longer his emotions get bombarded with the urge to flee. He can feel his heart skipping beats, fairly sure the anxiety that always simmers beneath the surface has exploded into an inferno beneath his skin. He's afraid of what he could do. He's lost as to what he should say. He thinks that getting up would probably just lead to throwing up but he really,  _really_  needs some space because the crawling across his skin is getting stronger by the second. "I don't need your help."

"No, you don't  _want_  it," Hunter corrects, moving off the bed and looking down at him. It's not cold but it's not quite pity either. Hunter looks like he  _wants_  to say so much but is working hard to ensure he says the right thing and nothing about that is comforting. "You don't want to admit you need help but letting it consume you won't solve anything. Blaine needs you, your sister ne-"

"Don't bring her into this." He sways to his feet in front of Hunter, not fully cognizant of the fact he's moved until his stomach gives another sickening twist. " _Don't_ ," he demands, because using Lillian as ammunition in a trip down Guilt Lane would just make him feel even worse. It always has in the past.

He can feel terror trickling down his spine when he recalls the way she'd looked yesterday. He can't escape the desperation he'd felt while waiting hours and hours during her surgery. His knees threaten to buckle beneath him, rendered weak by panic and the after-effects of too much alcohol.

"Seb-"

"Get out," he says, gritting his teeth when another sickening wave of nausea rolls through him. He's starting to suspect it's only a matter of time before he throws up. "Leave me alone."

"So you can get drunk again?" Hunter retorts, glaring down the slightest fraction of an inch at him. He's reminded of that old urge to break Hunter's nose again. "Not likely."

Sebastian shoves him but he loses his balance. It leaves him toppling backwards onto the bed and he whimpers when his brain rattles around in his skull. His stomach certainly protests the actions as well. He feels  _awful_.

"I know what you're doing," Hunter says calmly, his face doing that weird neutralising thing where it looks like he doesn't have any emotions. "You want everyone to give up on you like you're convinced your parents have done. You want everyone to give up on you because you believe that's all you deserve. You think your sister will hate you because of what you do and you think Blaine will want nothing to do with you and you think I'm easy to get rid of because sometimes I suck at dealing with people in my space and since no one's proved to you that you're worth sticking around for, you've just begun decided that's the truth."

Sebastian can feel some of his defences crumbling so he does the incredibly mature thing of rolling over and hiding his face beneath the pillow. "Shut up," Sebastian grunts, the words muffled by the fabric across his mouth. His emotions are leaping all over the place. He doesn't want to listen to this.

"You think you've got it all figured out, don't you? You think that drinking until you forget what upsets you will make it hurt less but it doesn't," Hunter continues and Sebastian tries to manoeuvre the pillow until his roommate's words are distorted. "You think you're a pariah to your parents and therefore no one else will care about you."

He'll  _never_  admit that Hunter's words hit too close to home. He'll never interject with his own comments to correct what his roommate says. He feels like doing so would basically expose his numerous vulnerabilities to another person and he's not ready for that. It's clear Hunter already has him figured out – far too accurately for Sebastian's tastes.

"I get it," Hunter says, his voice softening and making it hard for Sebastian to hear him through the pillow. "My father's a strict military man. I'm a disappointment because I hated military school so he sent me halfway across the country so he didn't have to see me. My first months here were restless but I spent some time in New York over the winter break and then you showed up and…"

Sebastian peeks out from beneath the pillow to see Hunter shrug, his gaze distant as he looks away from where Sebastian is huddled. He doesn't like that he feels the slightest pang of sympathy for the other boy. He doesn't want to sympathise with Hunter over anything because then it will start to meant they're friends and no one has stuck around long after declaring him a friend.

"Giving you space will only reinforce your beliefs that no one gives a shit," Hunter says, rising from Sebastian's bed to slump on his own. Sebastian peers at his roommate, his fingers anxiously fiddling with the seam of the pillowcase. "So I'm going to be an obnoxious mosquito that annoys the hell out of you until you start to realise that you can try to push me away but I'm still going to be here. And if you called Blaine, he'd answer. You don't  _have_  to be alone, Sebastian."

Sebastian watches Hunter for a while from beneath the pillow, turning over the words and wondering what, if anything, he should say in response. There's something about Hunter that nags at him. There's something he doesn't entirely understand but he wants to know, wants to ask, if only he wasn't so afraid.

In the end, he secures his words and stays silent.

There's been too much said by Hunter and he's still too hungover to properly process any of it. Saying anything could just make everything worse.

* * *

His phone buzzes on the bedside table.

At first he ignores it. He knows the short buzz means a text message and unearthing his face from beneath the pillow and having to glimpse Hunter, who hasn't left the bed for hours, isn't something he feels like dealing with. He has the distinct impression that he's being babysat and it leaves him grouchy. He's more likely to want to rip off Hunter's head when he gets grouchy.

When his phone buzzes more insistently, he stifles a grunt, rolls over to snatch it from the bedside table and huddles back under the blankets.

"Hello?"

"Hey you." Blaine seems uncertain in his greeting after Sebastian's snappish tone. Sebastian tugs the blankets higher over his head as if it will somehow shield him from Hunter's watchful gaze and hide him from Blaine's gentle care. "How are you?"

It's not surprising that the question is one of the first things out of Blaine's mouth, but it causes guilt to gnaw a painful hole in his gut as he debates what to tell Blaine. He has no doubt that Hunter is paying close attention to whatever he'll say, which will probably be more than whatever he's been reading for the past few hours. The last thing he needs is Hunter speaking up and rattling off his transgressions to Blaine about the night before. If Blaine knew he'd gotten drunk again, he's pretty sure Blaine would walk here from the hospital and rip off a leg. Blaine's smart enough to put the pieces together and realise his 'walk' had been about hooking him up with fresh supplies. He fully expects he'd get berated.

"Sebastian?"

"Blaine, I-" He bites his lip and curls up tighter, feeling somewhat overheated at the blankets swaddling him but desperate to keep the hushed conversation from his roommate's incessant nosiness. "Why are we friends?"

He listens carefully to the faint hitch in Blaine's breathing and lets his eyes close. He can imagine Blaine's eyes getting watery, his lower lip trembling. It's not like he wants to sever the friendship but he's just so lost that he needs the reassurance.

"Why would you ask that?" Blaine whispers, his voice clearly shaking.

"Just-" He can feel the prickle of tears and the skip in his heartbeat. Anxiety is twisting insistently through his stomach, making him struggle not to break down. He doesn't want to start crying when Hunter is still lurking in the room. He doesn't want Hunter bundling him into being held again. "I don't understand what I… I'm not a good person, you know? Like there'll come a point that all the fun and games just… And then I- And you've been through enough in the past months. Why would you want to…to keep being friends with me?"

The silence that invades the conversation seeps into his bones and nestles into a chamber of his heart. It's the worst sort of agony, a hollowness that throbs with each beat and spreads through his veins. He can feel a thin stream of tears trickling from his eyes. He tries to ignore them.

"Because I care about you," Blaine says quietly and slowly, perhaps evidence of carefully choosing his words to have the least damaging impact on his soul. It does little to allay the tears coursing down his cheeks. "You've given me courage and hope these past months, you've given me the strength so I can keep going. I don't want to let that go."

"But why-"

"You're the only friend I  _have_ , Sebastian," Blaine interrupts, his voice pained and making Sebastian's eyes burn more. Blaine is a better person than him by  _far_  and he'll never know what he did to deserve someone like this in his life after all the horrible things he's done. He'll never understand why Blaine didn't freak out and kick him from the PICU room after stirring awake. He'll never understand why Blaine kept him around. "And friends forgive friends for the stupid shit they do and friends support friends when they're going through a rough time and friends don't just quit when crap happens. I'm your friend because I want you to be my friend, because I like you and I care about you and I want you to be okay." Blaine pauses and Sebastian is pretty sure he hears a faint sniffle, but maybe it's just his imagination. He hopes it's his imagination. "I'd like to think you feel the same way, but…"

The way Blaine's words trail away make his fears clear. Sebastian swallows around the lump in his throat that seems to radiate hurt all the way down to his toes. He's so capable of screwing everything up and he feels so…so  _unworthy_  of Blaine's warmth touching his life.

"Of course I do. I just…" He exhales softly in an attempt to avoid the shakiness of his breathing filter over the line. He's almost certain there's a sniffle that isn't his and it breaks his heart. "I've just made so many mistakes and my parents want nothing to do with me and-"

"I'm nothing like your parents," Blaine says, somehow managing to sound both gentle and firm at the same time. "I'm  _nothing_  like them and I  _never_  will be. You're allowed to screw up, Sebastian. Just like me. I've made mistakes too, but you don't hate me for them, right?"

"No, but-"

"Then that's all that matters," Blaine continues and Sebastian lowers his head beneath the pillow, struggling with the effort it's taking to stifle his cries. Hunter has to know that he's falling apart over here by now. "Talk to me, Seb. What's wrong?"

Blaine's pitiful plea makes his eyes close. His fingers tremble and he clings tighter to the phone, wishing he could curl up against Blaine's chest again and sob until it didn't hurt anymore. He wants Blaine's fingers looping through his hair, rubbing circles into the back of his neck. He wants Blaine's steady breathing beneath his ear, the rhythmic thumping of his heart something that soothes his anxiety.

He inhales and flinches at the pain that burns his eyes. "I don't want to keep being this person," he whimpers, fisting the edge of the blanket between his hands to hold it closer to his body.

"What sort of person is that?" Blaine asks, patience bleeding into his voice. He wonders how Blaine manages to slip between an insecure fourteen-year-old and a boy wise beyond his years so easily. Sebastian's confidence is capable of crumbling at a moment's notice.

"I- One who…who can't cope with anything going wrong. I- I'm only fifteen and I'm… I do all the wrong things to cope and…I…"

Hunter had he was so out of it this morning that he couldn't be woken up. It was clear that he'd gotten terribly intoxicated the night before with his rapid swallowing. It was clear the alcohol had seeped into his body long after he'd fallen asleep. He'd been alone and anything could have happened to him. He could have choked on his vomit. He could have rolled over and suffocated. He could be causing major damage to his body. His sister has a second chance at living and maybe he's ruining his opportunity to be there with her for it.

His breath rushes out of him as he chokes on fear.

"I'm scared, B," he admits, lowering his head with the shame that flashes across his cheeks.

"Scared about Lillian?"

"No, just… I started drinking when I was thirteen. It's only been two years but it…it's only getting worse and…and I-" He doesn't know where he's going with this. He's too afraid to say it all out loud, whatever 'this' is anyway. Is he afraid of death? Not particularly. He'd been faced with his mortality for years in light of Lillian's. But, he supposes, everyone is afraid of death in some capacity, right?

Blaine's silence stretches long enough to wrap around the world a few times. "Would you be into like…therapy or counselling or whatever? Going to AA meetings?"

"I'm not an alcoholic," he whispers, but it doesn't sound convincing to him anymore. He doubts Blaine is convinced either. He doubts Therese was yesterday. He doubts Hunter was earlier. There are people around him more aware of the severity of his problems than he is.

"I've had a lot of counselling since I woke up," Blaine says, sounding calm and relaxed. It doesn't surprise Sebastian to know Blaine has been receiving help considering the extent of Blaine's injuries and the cause of them. He's always felt like Blaine was handling everything better than most people. He  _is_  surprised, however, by the fact he hadn't about the counselling earlier. Perhaps he'd just stayed wilfully ignorant by not asking because he was selfish. Perhaps he just hadn't wanted to know too much on top of everything else.

"I know that getting rid of your demons isn't as easy as waking up one morning and they're all gone," Blaine continues and it makes Sebastian wonder what Blaine's demons are. "I've learned that it's a process and I know you have a history far more tangled than I could try to unravel. I'm not saying stop talking to me, just…It's okay to allow other people to help too, Seb. People with expertise and experience who want to see you get better just as much as I do."

Sebastian thinks about Therese's number being programmed into his phone. He could text her, ask her for help. She'd have names, numbers, locations, a whole range of things if he'd just concede there's an issue and it's growing beyond his control.

But acknowledging a problem, reaching out and accepting help go completely against his nature. He's spent four years barricading himself against the intrusion of other people into his life.

"You don't  _have_  to deal with this on your own, Seb," Blaine murmurs.

It takes a moment for the words to echo and morph into Hunter saying the same thing earlier. He twitches with anxiety, wondering if it's a common thing to say to someone who's struggling or whether Hunter and Blaine are now in contact with each other. He wonders if they're passing messages back and forth about his welfare, comparing notes on how he's doing and what's going on. Maybe Blaine has been inducted into a friendship with Hunter, where he's become a replacement for Wes and Hunter has been sprawled on his bed, texting Blaine all day about how Sebastian is doing.

The jealousy that unfurls in his chest is as sickening as it is frightening.

He doesn't  _want_  to share Blaine with Hunter.

He doesn't  _want_  his trust betrayed.

"Seb?" Blaine prompts when he's evidently been silent too long.

Blaine had assured him that his secrets wouldn't be handed out to Hunter that freely. He tries to believe that's true.

"I just don't know what to do anymore, Blaine," he mumbles, his toes fidgeting beneath the blankets as he sighs deeply.

"Then let those of us around you, those of us you trust, help you to heal and believe in yourself," Blaine says, so confident that Sebastian almost wants to believe it's possible. It all sounds so easy, so achievable, when Blaine says it. Whenever Sebastian thinks it, he just feels like a lunatic. "We can all see the potential you contain, Seb. You just haven't realised it yet."

He snorts at the idea he has anything  _potential_  about him, although he eventually thinks that he could have the potential for being a private school boy who gets expelled. He could have the potential for being a high school drop-out (or kick out) who becomes a drug addict and alcoholic. He could have the potential for an early death fuelled by his twin vices of alcohol and marijuana, and maybe more. He definitely has plenty of  _that_  potential.

"You're an incredibly caring older brother to Lillian," Blaine explains, as earnest as ever and making Sebastian feel guilty that he doesn't believe it. "You're an amazing friend to me, Seb. You have plenty of potential to do anything you want."

It's a nice thought, one that might have warmed his heart if it hadn't been cold for so long. Perhaps it's a good thing he hadn't died and his heart given to Lillian. It would just be this frozen lump of blackness that would never be capable of restarting.

He opens his mouth but then hesitates, unsure if he should say what's on his mind. Maybe Blaine hears the catch in his breathing.

"Seb?"

"I don't want to be like this," he says quickly, not sure exactly what it means at this point but there, he'd said it. Does he get a cookie now or something?

"Then let us help," Blaine repeats, but Sebastian knows it won't be that easy.

* * *

The best, and worst, part about James knowing about his visit to the hospital is that he cuts Sebastian a lot of slack about turning up to classes. He's not sure he could concentrate on painting a self-portrait or scrawling scraps of an essay anyway, so the leniency he receives which enables him to stay huddled up in his bedroom and only escape for brief snatches of food when the dining hall is deserted is a luxury he wants to hold onto forever.

There is, of course, a downside.

Hunter gets the same leniency.

He thinks James probably expects Hunter to keep him up-to-date with the demands of his school work. He thinks James probably expects Hunter is helping him cope by offering him support and friendship, walking him through the problems he has in Maths or Biology until it all unravels and makes sense before his eyes.

The reality is that Hunter spends the vast majority of his time engaging in private study at his desk or in bed, consuming a range of novels and working through assigned pages in his textbooks. Occasionally he attempts to draw Sebastian into a conversation, tries to get him to explain how he feels or what he wants, but if Sebastian has learned anything from living with his parents it's how to keep his mouth shut. He doesn't want anything he says to turn into a frenzied need for learning more. As a result, he's become entirely capable of remaining silent, incinerating the olive branches Hunter keeps extending in the interests of keeping his secrets to himself.

On his third day in self-imposed exile, Wes stops by and sits on Hunter's bed. They have a chirpy chat he suspects is designed to make him feel excluded and unwelcome. It irritates him so badly that he sticks in his earbuds, jams up the volume on his phone, and hides his head beneath the pillow. When he eventually emerges, Wes has left and Hunter is curled up on the bed with another novel in his hands. Sebastian's pretty sure his roommate gets through books faster than the average teenage boy gets through a box of tissues.

On day four, he and Blaine exchange bland text messages where he admits he's stayed sober but hasn't left his room. Blaine expresses his concern but doesn't push the issue, which Sebastian is grateful about. He isn't sure he's in the mood to be told what to do or how to react or whether he should do something else to cope. Lillian's alive and she should be okay, more okay than she's been in years, but he's not sure he's going through this cycle of grief because of Lillian.

It's not until some ungodly hour that night when it suddenly makes sense.

The grief he feels  _isn't_  because of Lillian. He's already grieved about her for years and she's on the mend anyway. He's not struggling with the potential loss of her.

He's actually dealing with the very painful, very real, rejection by his parents. For  _months_ , he's been denying the extent of their distance in his life. He'd spent months believing – maybe pretending – they were just wrapped up in Lillian's ailing health. Regardless of how coherent Lillian had seemed during his brief visits, her continued residency in the PICU was evidence enough that she hadn't really made progress. Clearly their parents would want to spend as much time with her as possible and so a phone call, a text, from either of them the past few months would just be this afterthought, this thing they'd keep meaning to do but forget about all the time.

And then he'd had to go to the hospital.

Encountering his father had exposed the familial relationship between them which wasn't just frosty, but downright frozen solid. His father loathed him for reasons Sebastian couldn't fathom, Therese revealed that his mother obsessed over Lillian and offered little thought to him…

It's why late that night, when Hunter snuffles his quiet snores on the other side of the room, that Sebastian allows himself to silently cry with his face pressed into the pillow in an attempt to stifle any occasional sounds. He cries because he's so lonely at Dalton, regardless of his friendship with Blaine and Hunter who is a…sort-of friend. He cries because he's scared of the summer holidays and what will happen and where he'll go. He cries because he's angry at himself for getting mixed up with Terry and Aiden and Mitch and John, despite how much their methods have kept him sane over the years. He cries because he's sick with self-hatred at liking boys when he should like girls. He cries because he's terrified about what his parents will do to him when they find out. He cries because he's hurt,  _shattered_ , at what his parents have done in the months since they threw him out and left him to fend for himself. He cries because it finally dawns on him that he's fifteen-years-old and he lacks parents who care about him.

He eventually cries himself to sleep because he's too exhausted to keep feeling all the muddled feelings and he's completely drained of tears.

He stirs at Hunter moving around the room before quietly closing the bathroom door to take a shower. He keeps his eyes closed and barely moves beneath the blankets except to reposition one of his arms that has gone dead where it's tucked under the pillow. He listens to the whistle and hiss of the pipes, the faint splatter of water on the tiles, and gradually feels the pain in the centre of his chest expand to the point of breaking his sternum. He senses his emotions spilling over the bed, seeping into the mattress, blackening the air around him. His eyes prickle with tears he won't shed because his eyes already ache enough from the crying in the middle of the night.

When he hears the water shut off in the bathroom, he does his best to fake being asleep. He can count the seconds it would take Hunter to put on his clothes before the door opens and his hushed footsteps move across the carpet again. He can imagine Hunter placing his pyjamas into the drawer and discarding his underwear and socks into the laundry hamper. He can imagine Hunter arranging his schoolbag and the click of his shoes being slid on. He can imagine Hunter stooping to tie his shoelaces and standing to adjust his collar, tie and blazer lapels.

He does his best to keep inhaling and exhaling with painful evenness.

He figures Hunter will go to breakfast, put in an appearance, and return later to continue his babysitting duties since Sebastian has absolutely no interest in resuming his attendance at class today. He's pretty sure he has no interest in attending classes ever again and he starts wondering if it's possible to drop out. Can he run away from Dalton? Can he escape the state? Can he free himself from his parents due to their disinterest in his life? He starts turning the idea over in his head, wondering how he could convince Blaine to go with him, when there's an almost imperceptible knock at the door.

He supposes it's Wes so he stays motionless, continuing his ruse of sleeping, as he listens to his roommate's measured steps across the room until there's the clunk of the lock and the squeak of the handle as it opens.

"Good morning, Mister Clarington."

Oh  _shit_.

"Good morning, Sir," Hunter greets, his tone entirely too pleasant. Sebastian fights very hard not to scrunch his eyes shut in distaste. Instead, he grits his teeth together so hard he fears they might crack.

"I presume you know why I'm here."

"I can make some educated guesses, Sir."

He's going to strangle Hunter later. Or maybe cover his face with a pillow while he sleeps. His roommate is too congenial and he loathes it.

"Shall I…?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

He forces himself to count to four, in and out and pause, repeat over and over, as he hears the door close and the faint sounds of shoes on carpet moving in a rhythm that lacks his roommate's rigidity. He's determined to pretend that he's-

"You can stop pretending to sleep now, Sebastian," James says and Sebastian can't help the involuntary scowl that crosses his face. James snorts and he hears the drag of his chair from beneath his desk. He doesn't want to open his eyes and see the principal staring at him but he also wasn't raised so poorly that he'd be horrifically rude and turn his back on someone with so much power.

With a frustrated sigh, he opens his eyes and blinks slowly at the principal.

Wilson James sits in a plain charcoal grey suit with an emerald green tie that reminds him of Lillian's eyes on a clear summer's day. His face is as calm and impassive as always and the blankness of the principal's expression is the reminder he needed about why this man infuriates him so much. He's just like Hunter in a lot of ways.

"Good morning," James says with an overly cheerful grin.

Sebastian doesn't offer anything in return. He doesn't even manage a weak smile of acknowledgement. He realises, in a moment of clarity that is almost alarming, that he feels thoroughly devoid of anything that would pass as civility or normal.

"Not a morning person, I see," James comments, folding one leg over the other and propping his hands in front of him. "Not a social person either."

Sebastian's turns his attention away from the principal to a random spot on the other side of the room. He doesn't have to explain his emotions to someone that doesn't understand. He doesn't have to explain his emotions to someone who will just spread his feelings to the other teachers until they treat him with hesitant kid gloves again. Moving schools had been all about trying get  _away_  from that.

"Contrary to what you might believe, Sebastian, I am only trying to offer assistance," James says, not sounding particularly affected by Sebastian's avoidance of eye contact. Sebastian supposes a principal probably gets it all the time. "Would it interest you more if I led with knowledge of your sister's health?"

Sebastian can't stop the stiffening of his muscles at the words. As annoyed as he is by the bait he's so willing to fall for, he can't deny that yes, he's interested. He forces himself to sit up and look more capable, more controlled. He doesn't want to look like some sickly invalid who is bedridden in front of James because what if he calls Sebastian's parents?

And yet for days, he's avoided contacting the hospital, Therese or his parents to find out about Lillian's recovery. How would he react if Lillian wasn't improving? What would he do if he couldn't see her? What happened if her body rejected the transplant? Her old one had been taken out and…given to someone else? Discarded? If she rejected the new one, did that mean she'd just…die?

"How did you get information on her?" he eventually asks, suspicion tickling at his building anxiety.

"I'm a school headmaster," James explains with a shrug that looks too casual. There's a mischievous smile on his face that contrasts with the strict and stern than Sebastian expects he should be wearing. "To be perfectly honest with you, I fear I have access to too much information I'd rather never know."

Sebastian can only imagine the file that would exist on him: his absenteeism, his truancy, his use of alcohol and weed, his difficulty completing work, his outright refusal to do anything. He wonders what James knows about someone like Hunter, or Wes, or others at the school.

Despite how much he wishes he could be distracted by his errant thoughts, James has dangled the only thing he's likely to be interested in right in front of his face. Any consideration he has comes right back to James knowing information about Lillian.

He's loathe to admit that there's no way he can ignore it.

"What do you know about Lillian?"

James looks jovial that Sebastian fell for it. He wonders if the lure is snagged so far down his throat that he'll never get it out.

"She's in the cardiac intensive care unit in a stable condition," James says, his fingers knitting together in his lap. "I've heard she will be taken off sedation in the next few days but signs have looked promising that her body is accepting the organ and her overall circulation and organ health are improving."

Sebastian can feel his hands start shaking in his lap as James talks. He thinks it's peculiar mix of fear and relief that ripples through his body. As long as James is telling the truth, it's the best news Lillian could hope to have at this stage.

"By the end of next week, she may be moved from the intensive care to the general cardiac ward where she will spend a couple of weeks having her new heart continuously monitored, before spending some time in the paediatric ward to improve her overall health and wellbeing," James continues as he tilts his head to the side. "Sebastian?"

James leans far enough forward in the chair that he can reach out a hand to touch Sebastian's knee. It jolts him into having some sort of awareness of his surroundings and his own reactions to the news.

His hands are shaking badly enough that he probably looks like he's having some sort of epileptic fit.

"That… That's a relief to hear, Sir," he croaks, rubbing his hands against his face in an attempt to reduce the urge to cry. He doesn't want to add more fuel to the file James might have on him.

"It's okay to feel overwhelmed by the news, Sebastian," James says, squeezing his knee through the blankets before drawing away. "I'm not sure I would handle news about my sister very well if she had been as sick as yours for as long. I imagine the stress on you has been immense."

Sebastian fights down the frown that is threatening to cross his face and shrugs. "It's been harder for our parents." The words leave a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He can't believe that-

"You don't need to explain how they feel or defend them to me," James says, stealing some of Sebastian's discomfort and indignation right from his thoughts. He's so surprised that he glances up at the principal. "Your parents are entitled to feel and react in their own way, as are you. How do you feel knowing your sister is recovering?"

He blinks at James before his eyes drop to his hands again. "Just relieved she doesn't have to suffer anymore," he murmurs, figuring he would have said the same thing if Lillian's surgery had failed and she had died. He's never felt like he has any right to feel upset by what happens to her. She's his parents'  _daughter_  so of course his parents are upset. The danger and surgeries all affect  _her_  most directly, so she has every right to be unhappy and stressed.

And Sebastian?

Sebastian's just her brother that cares for her, loves her, but can't do anything practical to offer assistance nor is he the one being operated on. How he feels, or wants to feel, has always been ignored.

"You understand the consequences of organ transplantation?" James says and it reminds Sebastian a little of Therese explaining what he could expect to see when he visited Lillian after her surgery.

"Anti-rejection meds. Increased consequences of getting even a mild cold. Being careful with her until she heals." He scrapes his fingers through his hair. "But they're Lillian's pills to take. It's nothing different to the meds she's been on for years already. If it means she lives then it sounds better than seeing her unconscious in the hospital or…or knowing she's…"

The word hangs in the air but he can't speak it, even now, even with the risk reduced a fraction. James seems to understand anyway.

"You are a rather exceptional young man," James muses, settling into the chair.

He feels totally inept and stupid when he simply squawks, "Huh?"

"How many other boys your age are there at this school with the life experience, the wisdom, the resilience, that you do after going through so much?"

He stares at James like he's lost his mind. Maybe he has. Maybe brain transplants have become a thing in the days since he last ventured forth to interact with the outside world.

"I've done what I had to do to-"

"You are an exceptional young man," James repeats with an admonishing rise of his eyebrows which makes Sebastian stop his attempt at protesting the statement. "What you have felt, what you have overcome, what you have endured, will make you a capable leader and a compassionate human being. Your circumstances haven't been ideal, don't get me wrong, but you have done well to make it this far."

James has  _definitely_  lost his mind.

"Now, I have granted you leave this week to adjust to your circumstances and handle your grief but I am conscious that exams are a couple of weeks away and I do not wish the gaps in your knowledge to increase."

Sebastian wants to groan at the thought of finals. He doesn't remember the last time he turned up to an exam week. He doesn't even remember the last time he really sat down at an exam table for an extended period of time with a pen in his hand and wrote something meaningful.

"I have asked your teachers to modify your examinations to ensure they are not unfairly testing you on content you were not present to learn during your first semester of freshman year. However, I am still expecting you to do your best."

Sebastian wrinkles his nose. He has no idea how he's meant to do exams. Exams mean a lot of reading and writing, which he's begun to realise aren't to the standard they should be. Whether that's his fault, a consequence of his bad habits or his terrible attendance at public school the past years is something he doesn't like thinking about very much.

He'll deal with all of that later.

For now, he turns his attention towards something that has been concerning him for the past few days and swelled beyond massive proportions last night when he began to accept the extent of his parents' disinterest.

"What will happen to me when…when it's summer holidays?"

James' eyebrows dip into a frown. "What do you mean?"

Sebastian looks down at his hands again, drawing his lower lip between his teeth. He doesn't want to alert anyone to the problems he's facing. Therese seemed to already know after being a silent witness to his mother's demeanour for a while, but what if someone with some authority, like a school principal, found out? Would child services get called? Would he end up in the foster system?

"Sebastian?" James prompts.

"Just…" He pauses and sighs, struggling to know the appropriate way to phrase his predicament. "If I didn't want to go home for the summer and if…if there are things stopping me from going then…what happens?"

The bewildered expression on James' face shifts to something amused. "So you don't wish to return to a household where you are the first child but the last thing your parents on your parents' minds?"

He looks up at the principal in surprise and alarm and maybe, maybe just a little bit, hurt. It seems like a pretty callous assessment of his situation. "How did you-"

"I interview a lot of prospective students, Sebastian. I also meet a lot of parents."

James gives a vague shrug, a loose wave of his hand. Sebastian thinks he understands the implications, the things the principal isn't saying – he's met many people and the lack of care in Sebastian's parents was obvious.

"If returning home is unsuitable, then alternative arrangements can be made. You could stay with a family friend for instance, or a friend from school," James says, looking relaxed in the chair as he regards Sebastian's expression. "The school also allows for a limited number of students to board on campus during the holidays. Some students have parents interstate or overseas so returning home is a challenge we avoid imposing by offering them to stay in a familiar environment."

Sebastian digests James' words slowly. He could stay with a family friend but…who would that be? The only person that comes to mind is Therese. He has  _zero_  interest in staying with Hunter or his family. He isn't sure he'd be welcome at Blaine's because he's not entirely sure Blaine's parents are much more supportive than his own.

Or he could stay at school.

He wonders what sort of message that would send to others at the school, to his parents, to Lillian. A few know he lives on the other side of town so if they found out he was staying at school during the summer because he doesn't feel welcome in his own house, his own room, what does that say about his family?

But – he tries to find the positive before the negative possibilities drown him whole – he has  _some_  options for the summer holidays. He won't be thrown out of Dalton to return to his parents if he doesn't want to, if he doesn't feel able to. It would probably mean paperwork, and discussions, and interviews, and probably sitting in the same room as his parents and explaining why he's made the decision – although maybe he won't, maybe they'll just understand it and be grateful he's not imposing on their lives for a few months – but at least the options are there. He'll have to figure out how to see Lillian more because he thinks she should be out of the hospital by then but he suspects it's just his parents he has to deal with, and considering their minimal regard for his feelings, he's not sure he has much regard for theirs.

"Now then," James clasps his hands together, his eyes narrowing, "since I expect you to be completing your exams to the best of your abilities, it means you need to improve your attendance to said classes to gain knowledge of the requisite content and improve your socialisation."

Sebastian is pretty sure he's blinking rapidly, trying to understand what the principal has just said. There were far too many complicated sentences that weren't necessary for his brain which is still churning through the options for his summer holidays.

"It means you need to stop avoiding people and start going to your classes more," James says and Sebastian sighs, wishing he knew a way to talk himself out of it. Emerging from his room to see other boys who might want to stare at him, gawp and gape, held absolutely no appeal. He couldn't care less about balancing chemical equations or the influence of  _To Kill A Mockingbird_  on American society.

"Do I have to?" he says, well-aware of how whiny he sounds. He'd do  _anything_  to get out of going back to classes.

James chuckles and rises from his seat, a hand briefly brushing against Sebastian's shoulder. "The longer you spend trying to hide, Mister Smythe, makes the pain you're drowning in worse when many people would offer their assistance."

He tries not to think about Therese, Blaine, Hunter, Wes, Fincher, even  _James_  he supposes, offering him the world which he refuses to take. He looks at his hands, waiting for the principal to leave, waiting to hear the soft click of the door closing.

When it does, he peeks up to check James had actually gone before huddling beneath the blankets again. He draws the fabric to his neck as protection from a world he doesn't feel like facing just yet and tries to keep his breathing regulated.

* * *

_**~TBC~** _


	17. Chapter 17

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
**Word Count:** 7,887 ****  
Summary: Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. ****  
**Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:**  Nothing more than usual, although a fair bit of Hunter’s backstory in this chapter.

* * *

Hunter practically drags Sebastian out of bed the following day to enjoy the sparkly new week. He's anything but grateful as he gets bundled into the bathroom and washes himself clean beneath water that stopped feeling purifying ages ago. It's still difficult to dislodge his days of wallowing in the mess of his thoughts after looking comatose. What if it hadn't been Hunter that found him but his parents? What if it had been Lillian? He feels…scared of the person he's become, scared of the desperate  _need_  he feels demanding him to go to his desk drawer and drink through the bottles he's hidden there.

As much as he resents Hunter's hovering, he knows he'd be in terrible shape without him – and probably far more reckless with his decisions.

Hunter sits with him at breakfast but they don't trade conversation. They barely exchange looks. Hunter has his nose in another book and mechanically raises cereal to his mouth. He watches with faint amusement as the cereal grows increasingly soggier because his roommate gets distracted by the book. Over Hunter's shoulder, Sebastian can see Wes sitting amongst the band of people he regularly sits with who Sebastian now supposes must be the Warblers.

He notices they don't stare at him the way he expects them to. Hunter glances at him occasionally, perhaps gauging that he's not going to dart away and disappear, and he knows Wes has thrown more than a few curious and interested faces towards them, but mostly he's been left well enough alone.

It's so unexpected that he's not sure how to feel.

At public school, he'd have nosy people he hadn't spoken to in months come up to him with questions. He'd attempt to deflect them and usually end up with his books getting tossed down corridors and maybe a punch in the gut as a reminder of his lowly place on the social hierarchy. Through careful engineering or haphazard design, he'd been ostracised and accepted his role as the school freak and loner. He'd lower his head to avoid engaging with the stares of the people around him. He'd try not to flinch when he'd receive kicks to the shin by people passing by when he sat by himself on the grass. He'd find those two sophomores and lose himself for a few minutes in wet heat in an attempt to forget, an attempt to feel like someone acknowledged his existence.

At Dalton, he doesn't really get looked at any differently than before. Maybe a few people look between Hunter and him but he suspects Hunter glares at anyone who examines them too closely. He knows Hunter and Wes keep eyes on him but that's nothing unusual. No one kicks him or punches him, no one asks questions about why he's been absent for a week, no one threatens to bail him up. No one blows him either, but it's a sacrifice he's willing to make.

He realises that returning to classes is a little like when he first began at Dalton. He's suspicious again of everyone around him and attempts to avoid physical contact as much as possible. There's this alien part of him that feels like anything he touch will turn into a disaster and he doesn't want that burden, that responsibility, that sense of failure, to cripple him more than it already does. He rarely makes eye contact with anyone in the corridors so they don't get the wrong idea and ask him anything or hit him. He struggles with the immense workload of catching up along with the content he doesn't understand, but he doesn't dare ask anyone near him or the teachers for help and admit he's a failure.

In other ways, returning to classes is nothing like when he first began at Dalton. Whatever it is that Hunter has become, Sebastian realises he's trailing in Hunter's shadow a lot of the time as he avoids other people. Hunter is some sort of protector or guardian, shepherding him to and from classes with minimal fuss about how Sebastian docile is. It's not usually in Sebastian's nature to be like this – and he refuses to think he's shut down emotionally to the same extent as when he'd huddled in bed – but he feels like he's been ripped from safety and thus incredibly vulnerable. He'd never admit it, not even under the threat of torture, but he thinks maybe Hunter has picked up on it which is why he's being granted a bodyguard that allows him to move safely around.

Sebastian trudges through the week with Hunter by his side. In the afternoons, they quietly work together on completing work. Hunter never shows any frustration that Sebastian is ridiculously behind and Sebastian can't help wondering why Hunter is so patient. Is it the military training? Is Hunter a born-again saint? He's never entirely sure what to think. Late at night, he ponders the past months living with Hunter and begins to piece together that Hunter often compares his father to Sebastian's, but he's never talked about his mother. Does she still exist? Does Hunter have siblings? His roommate has seen him at his lowest point several times but he knows scant details in return.

He's not sure how to feel about that.

Each day, Blaine calls. Sometimes they talk about light things, like movies they want to see in the summer – Sebastian idly wonders if they could go together but he doesn't dare make presumptions and ask – and other times it's about Blaine attempting to walk five steps unaided. On Wednesday, Blaine informs him that Therese had stopped by with news that Lillian was showing consistent signs of improvement. It makes sleeping on Wednesday night a little easier and getting him out of bed on Thursday a little less troublesome for Hunter. On Friday, Blaine asks how he's doing.

How he's  _really_  doing.

"I feel really lost," he admits, fidgeting with the edge of his blanket as he gazes across the room. Hunter is at Warbler rehearsals or something equally disinteresting to Sebastian to keep track of. Mostly he just revels in having some free space without his roommate-turned-babysitter. He almost feels like having a drink, just for the sake of it, just because he's alone, so he clings to his phone conversation with Blaine as a distraction.

"With how you feel?"

"Yeah…" He sighs and tucks the phone closer to his ear, sucking his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. "I… I mean, I started thinking about my parents and…how my father was last week… I asked the principal about whether I could avoid returning home and he seemed okay with that idea and so there  _are_  alternatives…"

He can feel the agony and despair wash over him again, the reminder that his parents abandoned him and their interest in his welfare and wellbeing. The feelings are cold and prickly, settling uncomfortably in the centre of his stomach.

Blaine's pause stretches on, perhaps while he digests the words that have been turning over in Sebastian's head since his conversation with James almost a week ago. "If you stay at school, are you given leave to go whenever you want?"

Sebastian shrugs, even though Blaine can't actually see it. "I'm honestly not sure but…I think it'd be pretty unfair to keep you here all the time considering it's  _our_  holidays, you know?"

Blaine hums in acknowledgement before going quiet again. "You don't have anywhere else you could go?"

Sebastian snuggles under the blankets, using them as a shield from his emotions. It's definitely starting to get too warm to hide in his bed all the time but he doesn't have anywhere else that he can hide in, that feels safe and secure from other people seeing him disintegrating.

"Seb?"

He releases a quiet sigh and lets his lower lip slide free of his teeth. "Therese offered me a place to go if I needed it for an escape," he says, hesitation heavy in his words. He's avoided talking about any of this with Hunter the past week because saying it out loud makes it  _real_. He knows he's never had that problem with Blaine before because there's a deeper level of trust between them but…it's still painful to acknowledge that he's not welcome in his own home anymore. "I'm not sure it extended for the entirety of summer because that would be a pretty big imposition but…I mean, I could go home and stay with-"

"You  _can't_  go  _home_ , Sebastian," Blaine interrupts and Sebastian's eyes shutter closed at the tears which bubble to the surface. "I mean, you can't be expected to go back there. I saw what your parents are like and I… I want you to be…safe and happy, you know? If you go there, then…then would your summer be like last year?"

Sebastian can remember summer last year. Well, no, that's not entirely true. He can remember  _parts_  of it. There were definitely a few missing weeks when Lillian had a health scare and he'd hit the bottle harder and gotten blitzed for days on end. He's pretty sure there were at least three days he didn't go home because he was passed out in a park, but he doesn't have many facts to back him up.

This year, he's pretty sure he doesn't have those sorts of options. If he went home but mostly escaped it so he could get drunk or high, someone like Blaine or Hunter or Therese would track him down and lock him in a dungeon, forcing him into sobriety until the next year of school began. He's not sure if he's annoyed or grateful that he  _does_  have some people around him this year who are good influences on his health rather than encouraging him to continue doing the bad things.

"I don't know," he says eventually, lowering his head and licking his lips anxiously. "Lillian's health is better, right? Maybe my parents will want me home. Maybe they'll apologise and we can start doing things as a family again because they won't be so stressed about her."

His words are a weak excuse, even to his ears. When Blaine doesn't immediately jump in to agree, he knows that the other boy doesn't believe it for a second and his heart sinks.

He wishes he knew what the right way to feel was in regards to the entire situation he's mixed himself up in. His emotions have been on a wild rollercoaster since Lillian's surgery barely two weeks ago. He still can't deal with the crushing avalanche inflicted by seeing his parents again. He  _wants_  to have hope, he  _wants_  to believe the best of his parents, he  _wants_  to have their love and support and warmth again. He  _wants_ to be their son.

But…perhaps the fact that Blaine, optimist extraordinaire, doesn't believe there's anything to hope for is a sign that he shouldn't believe the best in them either. Maybe they were only ever going to let him down.

"Seb, I…" Blaine pauses and Sebastian can imagine him biting his lip. He knows it means Blaine is choosing his words carefully and that means that the thoughts on his mind are going to be difficult to hear. "I think you…you need to be prepared for every possible option. If you want to return home, it's your choice and you know I'll support you but…but if something goes  _wrong_ , then I think you should have a back-up plan as well. And whether what goes wrong is…is because they throw you out or because something unexpected happens to Lillian or…well, whatever the reason might be, I think it's smart to ensure you have options."

As much as he doesn't want to admit it, Blaine has a point. There are so many possibilities Sebastian hadn't wanted to entertain but Blaine has verbalised which drive home  _why_  it's so important to have options. He still hasn't decided whether he should stay at Dalton or leave. If he leaves, he hasn't decided where he'll go. He can't deny that there's an appeal to losing his mind the entirety of summer, avoiding his parents and Hunter and Blaine and Lillian and Therese by spending his time with the guys until he's so numb he forgets his name, until he's so gone that days lapse together and nothing hurts anymore.

There's a part of him though that thinks his wildly errant thought about getting locked into a dungeon might not be so wild after all. Blaine and Hunter and Therese would lose their minds if they knew what he'd done. And what about Lillian? How can he continue hurting her when she might be able to go to the park and sit in the sun with him for the first time in years?

"Please just be safe," Blaine says quietly, his voice unexpected after Sebastian had lost himself in his thoughts. There's something in Blaine's tone, something laced with concern, that makes him wonder again whether Hunter and Blaine are in contact and Hunter told Blaine about his little incident the morning after being at the hospital. There's something about Blaine pleading with him that sets him on edge, unsure about who he trusts.

"I  _can_  take care of myself," he snaps, his lips pressing together in an attempt to dam the frustration building within him.

Blaine sighs and the frustration crumbles, replaced by guilt because Blaine sounds so upset and disappointed and he hates hurting Blaine more than anything else.

"I never said you couldn't, Seb. I just need you as a friend, remember?"

He remembers. Pain slices through him at how pathetic he is, at how often he screws up and hurts the people he cares about.

Blaine switches the topic of conversation to something else, some upcoming movie he thinks, but his attention isn't really there anymore. The pain is steadily creeping into the centre of his stomach again, gnawing an acidic hole that makes him curl his knees to his chest. He's pretty sure burning his fingers with matches wouldn't be so agonising.

"Bastian?"

He blinks and tries to focus on the phone still pressed to his ear. "Sorry, B. I just… There's a lot going on at the moment."

Blaine makes a sympathetic humming noise. "You probably have finals coming up soon too?"

He winces at the reminder and grunts in acknowledgement that yes, he does and he really doesn't want to do them. "I don't think James will let me miss them, even if I tried to bribe him or my teachers."

Blaine giggles and it makes the corners of Sebastian's lips to twitch in a tiny smile. "I'm not sure private school works like that."

"Why do you think it sucks?" he says and Blaine laughs again.

Eventually the conversation begins to fade away and Blaine says that his dinner tray has arrived. They say their farewells and the line goes dead and Sebastian is left to lie on his bed, twisting his phone over and over and over in his hands. He feels cold and sad. His stomach is twisting with discomfort because his anxiety about the uncertain summer holiday plans just seems to have exponentially grown by explaining his feelings to Blaine.

Struggling to suck in a deep breath barely minutes after hanging up the phone to Blaine, he slips from the bed and folds himself to the floor in front of his desk. Tucked into a brown paper bag in the bottom drawer, hidden behind some books and papers, he finds the bottle he'd opened more than a week ago.

His fingers trace over the letters and the moulded glass around the neck. He doesn't know how this happened, how he turns to alcohol when everything in his life turns to shit. He's not sure what it means for his total lifespan but he knows that it's probably not good.

But does he care?

Until the pain lessens, until he works out other ways to cope, he doesn't know how else to deal with everything he feels. For four years, he's been caged by over his sister's health and denying the rejection he's felt by his parents. Alcohol has been his way of stabilising his feelings for the past two years. Alcohol has been his way of reducing the hurt and allowing him to deal with it all. To a lesser, and more recent, extent he's smoked a good joint to increase the numbness but alcohol has been his salvation for long enough.

He unscrews the cap and raises it to his lips, swallowing two mouthfuls and cringing as they go down. It burns down his oesophagus and pools in his stomach with heat. Tears slide down his cheeks because he's so willing to sacrifice everything just so he doesn't have to feel this agonising pain anymore. The bottle is pressed to his lips, a third mouthful dribbling down his throat, when the door opens.

"Hey, I'm-"

Hunter eyes find him too fast, his mouth snapping shut as he surveys the scene. There's nowhere for Sebastian to hide and no way to conceal what he'd just been doing. For the first time in nearly two weeks, Hunter hadn't been with him 24/7 and he'd fallen straight back into the habits he'd always had. There's definitely a hole in his stomach at being caught. He can't even look at Hunter right now because he's too sick with shame and fear.

"Put it down," Hunter says, very calm and very firm as he enters the room and shuts the door behind him. Sebastian hears the lock slide into place and from the corner of his eye, he can see Hunter unknotting his tie and removing his blazer. He knows Hunter will trap him in this if he's not careful, corralling him into surrendering even if that means he's kicking and screaming and his roommate is sitting on top of him. The warmth of the whiskey that had bubbled happily in his stomach has turned into a sickeningly cold sludge. "Put it down, Sebastian."

"You're not-"

"Put it  _down_ ," Hunter repeats, louder and clearer. If Sebastian had the guts to look up, he thinks there might actually tears in the corner of Hunter's eyes from the way his voice cracks. He can see his roommate approaching him, one cautious step at a time.

His brain is screaming for him to drink more, that this might well be his last chance for a while, but it's hard to glare defiantly at Hunter when swallowing another mouthful. When he peeks up at his roommate, there's something odd about Hunter's expression that jangles his nerves and makes him think he'd probably be crash-tackled if he even  _tried_  to raise the bottle to his lips again.

Hunter gets close enough that he can sink to his knees by Sebastian's side, his fingers closing around the neck of the bottle and peeling it from Sebastian's grasp. His protest about its removal is weak at best given his crumbling resolve and burning shame. He knows that another five minutes would have been more than enough time to consume so much that Hunter found him in an intoxicated heap on the floor.

Hunter finds the cap on the carpet and screws it onto the bottle. Once it's sealed again, he places it on the other side of his body far enough away that Sebastian can't reach it without trying to go through Hunter's solid body. He already knows from experience that that's never going to happen because his roommate is far stronger than he'll ever be.

"How much did you drink?" Hunter asks, glancing between the half-empty bottle and Sebastian. It's clear how much he'd drunk from the bottle before. He guesses that's why Hunter hadn't been able to wake him up. He feels guilty for not realising he'd had so much that night and stopping earlier.

It's tempting to lie and say he'd had half the bottle. Part of him might be amused by Hunter panicking that he'd fall into a coma, but he realises he can't really be that cruel to someone who looks like he's about ready to start screaming and shaking Sebastian's shoulders. He's never seen Hunter so unsettled and it actually scares him a little.

"Only a couple of mouthfuls," he admits, looking down at his hands. He can feel his heart and breathing fighting to fall out of rhythm when Hunter's hand covers his, as warm and steady as ever. It's not Blaine's but it's an offer of support, an extension of help. He knows he'd be foolish to reject it.

"Why did you want to drink?"

He doesn't want to blame Blaine for this because he knows it isn't Blaine's fault at all. Instead, he should blame his parents for neglecting him while they focused on Lillian. He should blame the situation he's tangled within, like the uncertainty over what's going to happen when summer rolls around. He knows it's easier to lose his mind with the help of alcohol than the building torment inflicted by ineffective sleep, loneliness, hurt and isolation.

"Life sucks," he mumbles, clambering to his feet and flopping onto the bed on his stomach. He turns his head away from the side Hunter is on, unable to face him because of the horrible feelings brewing inside him.

"It can suck," Hunter agrees and Sebastian hears the fabric of his roommate's clothes shifting before the bed dips and a hand rubs between his shoulder blades. "It doesn't mean you try to forget it as soon as it hurts too much, though."

He scrunches his nose and shuts his eyes, pretending he's going to sleep or something,  _anything_ , to avoid looking at Hunter and falling apart in front of his roommate.

"What it usually means is that you allow the people who want to help you in, letting them support you so you don't feel so alone that you can't breathe," Hunter says. His hand moves up to squeeze Sebastian's shoulder before the weight of him on Sebastian's bed leaves. Sebastian half-opens an eye, watching Hunter remove his shoes before he sits on his bed and buries his head in his hands with a sigh. It's not the first time that Sebastian wonders if the only thing he's capable of is making mistakes which disappoint the people around him.

He can't help wondering why Lillian was chosen to have the life-threatening condition until she received a heart from Michigan rather than receive his own. Frozen solid lump of black nothing or not, he doesn't think his life has done anyone any good lately.

* * *

Hunter apparently decides to resume his role as babysitter over the weekend.

It's later that night, when he wakes from what he thought was a brief doze, that he goes to have a shower. He discovers his previously half-filled bottle empty, left on the sink for Sebastian to see as soon as he enters the bathroom. He picks it up and traces over the lettering on the label, feeling sad that the alcohol is gone but knowing he wouldn't have had the strength to pour it all out so at least Hunter has done him some sort of favour. He also knows he still has the second bottle hidden in his desk drawers.

He removes his clothes and pulls back the shower curtain to turn on the water. Sitting against the drain pipe, positively  _mocking_  him, is the second bottle.

Empty.

Seized with rage, he picks up the bottle and wraps his towel around his waist. He fully intends to break it over Hunter's stupid head to knock some sense into his stupid fucking roommate. Maybe if he lacerates Hunter's scalp, he can check his roommate bleeds red because Sebastian's pretty fucking sure that-

"Yeah, I did," Hunter is saying when Sebastian throws the door open, clutching the towel to his hip to avoid exposing parts of himself that he belatedly realises his roommate has already seen.

All he can see is red. All he can feel is fury. His hands are shaking badly enough that he's slightly worried he might drop the bottle and it will shatter at his feet. Maybe treading on broken glass won't matter anyway. He's sure he'd bleed black despair because there's nothing inside him anymore and anyone who gets too close is just left unhappy.

He glares at Hunter, who has his phone pressed to his ear. His roommate's mouth is slightly ajar, his eyes assessing Sebastian's furious stance.

"I'll call you back," his roommate rushes out before ending the call – to Wes? to Blaine? – and putting the phone onto the bed. He rises from the mattress, feet roughly shoulder width apart, shoulders straight and steady, hands loose by his sides.

Everything about Hunter screams that he's far more in control of this situation than Sebastian. Everything about Hunter makes it clear he's prepared to fight and he knows how to stand defensively.

In contrast, Sebastian can feel his knees struggling to hold him when he just wants to yell and fight and cry and throw things around the room and smash his roommate's skull in.

Not to mention he's holding a towel in some absurd effort to preserve his dignity.

"Why?" he demands, his question coming out rough and raspy because his throat is tight with distress and panic that he's lost not only his primary bottle for coping, but also the back-up bottle and now he doesn't know how he's meant to cope. The decision to stay sober has been completely taken out of his hands and he feels completely out of control.

Hunter's stillness means any movement he makes is amplified a thousandfold. Sebastian can see that his question causes a slight narrowing of Hunter's eyes and the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows, but otherwise he remains the stoic opposition to Sebastian's internal chaos.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself," Hunter says, somehow stiff and formal. "I can't continue to be afraid of leaving you alone because I'm not sure I trust you to still be alive when I return."

Instead of soothing Sebastian's anger, Hunter's words increase the grip around the neck of the empty bottle. He's fully prepared to rush at Hunter and break it over his head or in his face. Maybe then he'd at least have  _some_  expression _._

"I can take care of myself," he says, but the words are an unpleasant, bitter echo of what he'd said to Blaine. Before he'd succumbed to the temptation he was too weak to fight.

"Bullshit," Hunter dismisses, stepping towards him. His stance radiates how cautious he's being, how he's cataloguing and calculating Sebastian's own posture and his words. "What did you think when you saw the first bottle empty? 'Oh well, at least I have a second he doesn't know about'?"

Sebastian opens his mouth to argue but realises he can't. Hunter had taken his exact thoughts from his head and it stuns him into silence. His mouth closes and his eyes drop – but not before he sees a flash of triumph across Hunter's face that infuriates him.

"I've seen this before, Sebastian," Hunter says, his voice so tentative that it drags Sebastian's attention upwards.

Hunter is standing close enough to reach out and grasp the bottle in Sebastian's hand. He's still furious but his anger is giving way to disbelief that Hunter actually had the balls to empty out the first bottle  _and_  find the second one. His roommate must have crept around his room when Sebastian had dozed off.

"What do you mean?" he asks, curling the towel closer to his body and feeling acutely aware that this is totally not the conversation he should be having when he's basically naked.

His minor gesture seems to catch Hunter's attention and his roommate steps back again with his hands up. "How about you have a shower and put on some clothes and if you're still interested and don't want to kill me with the bottle in your hand, then we'll talk?"

Sebastian's mind tumbles over a million possibilities, but he can't deny he's intrigued. Did Hunter have an alcohol problem in his past? Or a drug issue? He thinks about James saying he knew more about most people than he wanted and if that means they'd been deliberately assigned to the same room because they have matching histories with all the wrong things. What if he'd influenced Hunter into relapsing? What if Hunter had influenced him into trying something worse? Is it neglectful or criminal to set two people up that could cause mutual harm to the other?

He flings the bottle in Hunter's general direction and his roommate narrowly manages to react in time to fumble his way through catching it. He wouldn't really care if Hunter hadn't and it had broken against his feet and scattered shards around the carpet. Their room is already a warzone.

Besides, even if he doesn't have anything to drink, giving up one empty bottle to Hunter's hands isn't so bad: he still has a second bottle he can break over Hunter's stupid head.

* * *

By the time he finally drags himself from the shower, his mood has sufficiently lessened that he no longer feels homicidal and he leaves the second bottle in the bathroom. He's spent quite a while enjoying vivid fantasies of breaking it over Hunter's head but for now, he'll listen to what his roommate has to say and then… Well, it's not like it really matters either way. His only coping method had literally been poured down the drain.

He dresses in his jeans and t-shirt and hangs his towel on the rack. He suspects he's dragging this out as long as possible, procrastinating a conversation he's not sure he wants to have. He doesn't particularly feel like facing Hunter's disdain or judgement. He doesn't feel like knowing his roommate's intimate details despite all that Hunter knows about him.

Staring at his foggy reflection in the mirror, breathing a massive sigh, he escapes the bathroom to face up to the inevitable before he freezes in the doorway.

Hunter sits stiffly in his desk chair, back to Sebastian, oddly trusting that Sebastian won't leave the bathroom and try killing him again.

Across the room, in Sebastian's own desk chair, sits Wes.

"If this is an-"

"It's not an intervention," Hunter interrupts, turning to look at Sebastian and waving his hand towards Sebastian's bed. "Have a seat, Seb."

Sebastian can't stop looking at Wes, who meets his gaze steadily, as he approaches his bed and sits on the edge of it. Hunter being here was a no-brainer although he didn't know what he expected Hunter to talk about. Wes? Wes is an anomaly he'd never expected.

"So…" he prompts, his anxiety making him shifting on the bed. He just wants to get this over and done with as quickly and painlessly as possible.

"I might not know the extent of what you've done but I know that you're destroying yourself," Hunter says, looking from Sebastian to Wes. Wes inclines his head a fraction and then Hunter's eyes meet Sebastian's again. There's a fire in the green eyes he's not sure he's seen before, a squareness to Hunter's jaw that makes him look almost dangerous. "If I find contraband in your possession again, I won't hesitate to go to Principal James and report you."

Sebastian gapes at Hunter, his stomach twisting inside out and his rage increasing at an alarming rate. Hunter's words feel like they're laced with so many layers of threats that he can't properly separate them all but underscoring all of it is the knowledge that if James finds out what he's done, he'd probably be expelled.

And  _then_  where would he go?

"I'm able to-"

"You're  _not_  going to spin me that crap again, are you?" Hunter says, leaning forward in his chair with such speed that Sebastian thought his roommate was going to launch out of it. It scares him as much as it makes him realise Hunter is finding it difficult to sit still much like Sebastian. He doesn't like acknowledging their similarities. "You don't have to admit anything about what you do to me. Hell, maybe you can't even admit it to yourself but-"

"Hunter," Wes says quietly, derailing his roommate's spiel. Sebastian doesn't even realise why until Wes' hand touches his forearm. Apparently Sebastian had gotten to his feet without realising, his hands curled into shaking fists by his sides. "Take a breath, Sebastian."

"Don't-"

"Take a  _breath_ , Sebastian," Wes repeats as he moves closer, circling his fingers around Sebastian's arm like an ill-fitting bracelet. Despite Wes being a sophomore, Sebastian is a head taller than him. Perhaps it's because Wes is a sophomore that Sebastian obeys the authority that fills Wes' tone and the determination that glints in his dark eyes as he holds Sebastian's wrist.

When his hands begin to steady and his breath isn't stuttering past his lips quite so much, Wes removes his fingers from his skin. Sebastian isn't sure he wants to sit down, preferring the idea of pacing around like an enraged animal, wrecking things at will because once again, he's trapped in his room and now there are two people trying to tame him.

"My father abuses alcohol," Hunter says, distracting him from his own thoughts. Sebastian's gaze snaps over to his roommate, watching the way his hands fidget in familiar patterns in his lap. "He gets nasty when he has too much. Sometimes he's been violent. My mom…" Hunter's fingers twist into a ball to hide the faint tremors Sebastian thought he'd seen. "My mom finally had enough and packed up a few years ago and left me with him."

Fragments of the knowledge he'd pieced together about Hunter increase with the words his roommate offers. Now he understands why he'd never heard Hunter talk about his mother before. Now he understands why Hunter had felt so good standing up to his father at the hospital. What had Hunter said at the time, that Sebastian's father was a substitute but he wouldn't get a black eye?

"My father is retired military who probably has undiagnosed PTSD," Hunter continues, his body language betraying how incredibly uncomfortable he is with sharing these parts of himself. Sebastian is too busy trying to process it to think about what his face is doing but he hopes it doesn't seem so confrontational anymore. "I think he drinks to cope with the darkness that's deep within his soul at the horrors he's seen and-"

Hunter cuts himself off with a shake of his head and looks up at Sebastian. Hunter looks the smallest, weakest, most vulnerable, that Sebastian has ever seen.

"I don't know the entirety of your story and I'm not asking for it," Hunter says, his gaze drifting to Wes for a moment before he swallows, "but I'm scared for you, Sebastian. I'm scared for you and I don't want to…to be unable to wake you up again or for your sister to find you like that or… _God_ , even Blaine finding you like that because it was so fucking terrifying and just… I can't ask you to stop but…" Hunter's words trail away as he shrugs and returns to staring at his hands. "I don't want you to keep hurting when people want to help you."

It's only when Hunter finishes speaking that Sebastian becomes aware of the fact that Wes hasn't really moved from beside him. It feels claustrophobic and uncomfortable and he immediately steps back. The other boy seems to get the message and moves across the room to press a hand to Hunter's shoulder.

He realises in that moment, seeing Wes silently support Hunter, that he wants Blaine here. More than anything, he wants Blaine's hand on his shoulder, Blaine's fingers twined with his own, Blaine's curls beneath his cheek as they lay together. He wants Blaine to steady the rampaging series of emotions that all seem to be heading in the direction of him slumping to the floor in a mess of tears.

He can't get the image out of his mind of Lillian finding him, shaking him, being unable to wake him, screaming his name as tears stain her cheeks.

It terrifies the hell out of him.

"I don't know what else to do," he admits in a whisper, sinking into his unoccupied desk chair, his fingers sliding through his hair. He's crumbling with defeat in front of Hunter  _and_  Wes and he feels like shit for doing so but he can't keep hiding it any longer. He's too broken. He's too exhausted. He's too lost.

"So you drink because it's your only option to escape?" Hunter prompts. Sebastian's eyes flicker upwards to see Hunter watching him, his lips pursed together and his eyes doing that thing again where he seems to see straight past all of Sebastian's armoured walls. He gives a non-committal shrug and looks down again.

"You've suffered enough," Wes says, moving from Hunter's side to crouch in front of Sebastian. The vicious side of Sebastian wonders why Wes bothers to crouch – he's already short. "Do you  _want_  to keep being alone and hurting yourself, Sebastian?"

 _Of course not_  he nearly snaps, the words echoing in his mind harsh and bitter. Hunter realised he had a problem because Hunter has experience in recognising the signs and was genuine in wanting to help. Wes is…not someone he signed up to dealing with when he climbed on today's rollercoaster. He doesn't feel comfortable divulging his secrets to someone more or less a stranger.

"You need to do it for yourself," Hunter says, drawing Sebastian's attention back to his roommate. "You need to realise this isn't the life you want but…if you need someone else as motivation, then use Blaine. Use your sister. Use whomever you need to get through all the crap but don't…don't keep hurting yourself when there are people that care about you."

Sebastian wants to deny that anyone  _cares_  about him because  _hello_ , Hunter had met his parents but…but he can't deny it. Lillian might still be recovering from major surgery but he knows their sibling bond is unbreakable. He remembers how sad Lillian had been when she thought he was unhappy with himself and how she hadn't wanted him to destroy things and…he had, hadn't he? He's been hell-bent on his own destruction for years.

And Blaine is…Blaine. Blaine is his shining ball of optimism and hope and support and courage. Blaine is the person who takes every call and listens to every ounce of heartache. The safety he'd felt with his head in Blaine's lap while Lillian was in surgery, fingers combing through his hair to keep him calm, had been incomparable. A year ago, he wouldn't have trusted anyone else near him at a time like that. Now, Blaine's the person who had kept him close and protected him, had soothed his terror and made him smile, during the worst hours of his life. Maybe Therese had been right – maybe he  _is_  scared of losing someone like Blaine. Maybe that's why every time he feels himself getting too close to Blaine he tries to draw away.

"Hunter, I…" He shrugs helplessly at his roommate, increasingly overwhelmed by all the emotions he can't handle and all the words he can't process into any semblance of a sentence. He's torn between the urges to cry or to rage around, to fall to the floor or to fold himself under the covers of his bed and never leave. The threads of his control are starting to fray too much to hold onto.

"I'm here, Seb," Hunter says, rising from his seat to move closer and pressing his hand into Sebastian's shoulder. "I'm here, and I'm pretty sure if you called Blaine right now, he'd be in your corner all the way and so would your sister. You don't have to do this alone."

"I can help too," Wes says from his spot on the floor, patting Sebastian's knee before he stands and drifts towards Hunter's bookshelf.

Sebastian's hand moves to his shoulder, his fingers twisting between Hunter's. It's a poor substitute for Lillian or Blaine but for now, it helps to ground him in the present and stops him from scattering into pieces on the floor that can't be put back together again. At this point, he thinks he may as well be called Humpty Dumpty.

"I don't want to scare Lillian," he whispers, peering up at his roommate who squeezes his fingers.

"Would you be willing to work together?" Hunter asks, kneeling in front of Sebastian and looking at him with all the earnestness in the world. "I don't need your entire past but…I'd just ask for your honesty if you felt like you need to get wasted. I don't need to know why if you don't want to talk about it, just the knowledge that you feel that way and….and we can talk or watch a movie or I can give you some privacy to talk to Blaine or we can do some homework or whatever you think would help distract you until the feelings pass."

If anyone had told Sebastian a year ago that Lillian would survive a heart transplant, that Sebastian had been kicked out of home and into boarding school, that he'd questioned and re-questioned his sexuality before starting to admit to the closest people he had in his life that he might be gay, and a boy that threatened to hit him on their first day as roommates then blew him when he was coming off a really bad night out with the guys and was now offering to distract him from his desperate urge to forget every part of his life on a regular basis… Well, he would have laughed. Blaine and Hunter falling into his life was an unexpected pair of catalysts in recognising that his life was totally out of control and not only were numerous people disappointed in him, but he was also disappointed in himself.

"I can try," he concedes, breathing a small sigh of relief when Hunter squeezes his hands and lets go. He's scared about what Hunter's words mean because he doesn't really know yet how to implement all of Hunter's suggestions to stop himself doing something stupid or dangerous. It's not like he hasn't known the risks of mixing alcohol and marijuana, or drinking to the point of passing out, but he just hasn't  _cared_  enough to do anything about it. He hadn't believed anyone else had cared enough to help him stop either.

He's not sure if Blaine knows just how reckless he's been. He knows Blaine is smart and would have the ability to look it up. He has a feeling if Lillian ever found out the risks, she'd march straight into his dorm room and slap him stupid and then cry her little heart out of her chest.

It wouldn't be like her upset wouldn't be deserved after all the hurt he's caused her over the years.

"It will be okay," Hunter says before he wanders over to join Wes by the bookshelf.

Sebastian hopes Hunter is right. He's not sure he has much fight left in him these days. Lillian's always been better at beating the odds than he has. She's always had the internal fire to keep going and hold onto hope when he's been more willing to set fire to the tip of a joint and hold onto a bottle.

He eventually crawls onto his bed and wraps his arms around the pillow beneath his head. He tries to pretend it's Blaine's chest, tries to imagine Blaine's fingers threading through his hair while he speaks gentle but wise words that float over Sebastian's skin. Regardless of what Hunter said when he'd emerged from the bathroom, the conversation had definitely felt like an intervention. He felt like he was going to be put out on the line until the alcohol in is system had dried out, even if that meant he was burned and wrinkly by the end of it.

He can hear Wes and Hunter's quiet voices on the other side of the room but he doesn't really want to participate in any further discussion. He feels like he's exposed enough of his soul for the day – maybe even the next decade – and now he just needs to nurse his aching heart. Blaine knows he feels lost and now so do Wes and Hunter. He's still not sure why any of them care enough to offer him help. It's not as though he's going to be a source of joy and light in their lives.

"See you soon, Sebastian," Wes calls and he grimaces even though the other boy can't see it. The door opens and closes and Sebastian can hear the quiet breaths of his roommate in the ensuing silence.

"Do you want to…be held or something?" Hunter says, sounding as uncomfortable as Sebastian feels with the idea.

"No," he answers, hugging the pillow closer to him and closing his eyes to try to overlay the memories of Blaine's chest on the fabric. Maybe if he tries hard enough, he can feel the firmness of Blaine's ribs and the softness of his belly beneath his arms and hands.

"I didn't want to do it," Hunter says and Sebastian can hear the shuffling footsteps get closer to his bed. "I didn't want to have to confront you like that but…I didn't know what else to do."

"You didn't have to interfere in someone else's life," Sebastian points out, frustrated that Hunter's voice is breaking his illusion of Blaine in his arms. He needs silence so he can concentrate.

"I couldn't watch you kill yourself because you were abusing alcohol when I've seen that there are two very important people in your life willing to do anything for you. I'd never forgive myself for seeing you every day and doing nothing."

Sebastian opens his eyes and glances to the side to catch a fragment of Hunter's body by his bedside. "I'm not as weak as you think."

"Then it shouldn't be very hard for you to remain sober," Hunter says nonchalantly and returns to his side of the room. "After all, it's not like you were relieved when you thought I'd just found one bottle since you still had a second. There's nothing like knowing you've got a fall-back and your roommate is too foolish to find it. But… Oh wait…"

His hands clench into fists beneath the pillow but he refuses to rise to the bait. He can tell Hunter is deliberately goading him, probably because he hasn't given away much about his feelings towards the situation he now finds himself in. Even if he could separate the various feelings, he's not sure he let it all out. He's not sure how to let it all out.

He ignores Hunter's words long enough that the other boy sighs and falls silent. Sebastian suspects he's reading given the occasional sound of scraping paper but he doesn't care enough to check. There's an icy-hot sensation of betrayal creeping down his spine and oozing through his gut. He hopes it won't last forever.

* * *

_**~TBC~** _


	18. Chapter 18

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
**Word Count:** 9,535  
Summary: Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.  
**Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:**  Nothing more than usual.

* * *

Sebastian spends most of Sunday out of his room in an attempt to avoid Hunter and Wes. He's pretty sure his roommate is hovering more than usual but since he has no chance of getting drunk with two empty bottles in his possession, there's hardly an imminent risk to his health. The gardens are greening, although it's still a little cold and he wishes he'd worn better socks and taken a warmer coat when he ventures outside. He eventually ends up huddled in a corner of the library until he's forced to return to his room. He keeps his eyes low and avoids saying anything to Hunter. For once, his roommate grants him the space he needs and doesn't press and pry too much.

His teachers inform the classes on Monday that their exams will be in a week. A combination of frustrated pleas and furious whispering breaks out as his classmates write down the 'essential content' they will be expected to know. He tries to keep up, tries to get it all down, but there are several things he's never heard of before and he realises he's probably going to fail anyway after he missed the first semester and never caught any of the work up. There was simply too much to do on a regular basis already, as well as too much to cope with in school and outside of it.

By the time he starts the return trip to his room on Monday afternoon, he realises he doesn't particularly care about the exams. He has bigger concerns – like where he's going to be staying during the summer holidays or how to prove to Hunter that he's fine – and if he's just going to screw up because he's missing content and the letters still swim across the page, then what's the point in fretting about them?

He notices that the dorm corridor is eerily quiet when he walks towards his door. He wonders if everyone has left school for some reason, or maybe there's another Warblers performance taking place that he hadn't known about which explains where the boarders are. It's not like it's a rowdy place ordinarily but the silence is  _weird_. Looking around curiously, as if an answer will materialise beside him, he opens his door and steps inside.

Hunter is hunched over his desk, glasses on, blazer discarded over the bed, highlighter in one hand and pen in the other. He looks completely frazzled when his eyes rise to see Sebastian.

"Where have you  _been_?" his roommate demands, circling something in his book with one hand and highlighting something else at almost the same time with the other. He had no idea Hunter was ambidextrous. He wonders if it's a skill brought on by Hunter's manic obsession in doing well all the time.

His first reaction is to lie, although it's not like he's been anywhere exciting and Dalton doesn't even have anywhere that  _would_  be convincing or fantastical enough to use for a lie. He could be truthful but there's no fun in that. He finally ends up pausing, his brow wrinkling as he closes the door. "Why does it matter?"

"Because you need to  _study_ ," Hunter says, exasperation thick in his words as he caps his highlighter and rises from his seat. "I drew up a study plan for you so that you can get the most out of each day and ensure you are revising all relevant content as well as probably filling in some of the blanks you have from not being here last year and-"

Sebastian stares at Hunter, struggling to take in the rapid speech which makes him think of a machine gun firing words at his head. He blinks repeatedly, accepting the sheet of paper which is covered in multi-coloured squares that distinguish his classes and not comprehending anything Hunter says nor the plan. Part of him is thankful that someone else went to all the trouble of creating a study plan but…another part of him knows it was wasted effort.

"-and so I thought that we could start on American History first because it's pretty easy and then move on to Geometry and-"

" _Hunter_ ," he interrupts, placing his hand against his roommate's chest in an attempt to stop the barrage of words. Hunter's mouth continues to move for a moment although the words fade away. "Thank you for the schedule but-"

Hunter's eyes narrow, his arms folding over his chest. "You're not going to tell me you aren't going to study," Hunter says bluntly, the look on his face displaying his displeasure and disappointment with Sebastian's minimal regard for exams. "You can't just let yourself deliberately  _fail_."

Sebastian wouldn't have considered what he was doing a  _deliberate_  fail. It just didn't seem relevant to try to study when doing well was a moot point and doing badly was a foregone conclusion. Besides, he had all those bigger problems, like an urge to drink alcohol and get high, or see that his sister was surviving okay with a new heart?

But caring about  _exams_?

Forget it.

"I'm going to see James in the morning," he lies, thinking as quickly as he can on his feet. He hasn't had to do this since he was at home. It feels uncomfortable to be lying again but on the other hand, it's familiar. It's easy to lie. "It's not fair that I sit exams covering content I wasn't here for so I'm going to see if they can be modified or maybe I can get out of them."

Hunter snorts. "You're joking, right?" Rolling his eyes, he turns back to his desk and sinks into his chair. Sebastian tries not to feel insulted at how dismissive Hunter can be when only a few days ago, he'd been baring parts of his past and the most compassionate Sebastian had ever seen. "The rules only bend so far, Sebastian. You can't just snap them when you please."

The words slap into his skin, leaving him raw and bruised. The helpfulness in Hunter two days ago, the care he'd seen in the past couple of months, erases with the comments designed to wound him the deepest. All the progress he's made with his roommate evaporates and he's left with an urge to drink alcohol – which he no longer has  _because_  of his stupid roommate. It's an increasingly anger-ridden spiral that he doubts would end well.

Gritting his teeth, setting his jaw, he tears the hand-drawn schedule Hunter had created into tiny pieces. He ensures that the pieces are too small to stick together again and walks over to his roommate. Hunter is staring at him with wide, hurt eyes when he flings the confetti over his head. It flutters around his desk, falls on his hair and his clothes, settles on his open book and covers the carpet around his chair. Dozens of bits of white paper and multi-coloured paper from Hunter's highlighters litter the area around Hunter's space.

"Thanks for  _nothing_ ," he sneers, turning on his heel and slamming the door as loudly as he can when he walks out.

If Hunter is so obsessed with studying, then Sebastian is more than willing to leave his roommate alone. It's not like Sebastian wanted to be there anyway.

Doing well is impossible.

* * *

The problem with fighting Hunter is that he's left with few places he wants to go to escape. He walks around the gardens for at least fifteen minutes in an attempt to burn off the furious frustration before he concedes that it's hopeless. He's still just as mad as he'd been when shredding something Hunter had obviously taken care to create, but after hearing Hunter's callous words he doesn't even feel guilty. Why should he care about Hunter's feelings when his roommate's words had been so carefully calculated to stab him in the heart? Didn't Hunter already know he was struggling enough? Hadn't Hunter inflicted enough hurt in the past months?

"Ah, Mister Smythe!"

He flinches before he can conceal it. His hands curl into fists by his sides. He continues staring at the tree and wondering if he's capable of burning a hole in it with his eyes. He's so angry that he's convinced it's possible for his gaze to become laser-like.

"I thought that was you. I was trying to figure out who was walking in circles around the gardens."

He grits his teeth together so harshly that he's pretty sure something cracks. Or maybe that's just the control he has over his temper fraying dangerously towards snapping completely.

"Mister Smythe?"

It's difficult to decide what to do. Running away from Dalton might just lead to a search party being sent after him. Stalking off might just get him followed. Turning around might set James on fire with the power of his glare. Saying anything might just reveal how hard he's struggling to contain his fury.

"Sebastian?"

A hand touches his shoulder and he shrinks away from it, walking a few steps before he spins on his heel and flexes his fingers. He wants to hit something. He almost wishes Hunter was tied up and on his knees in front of him so that his nose was completely accessible to Sebastian's fist.

"Stop pretending to care," he spits, glowering at the stupid principal who has his glasses perched on top of his head. As always, Dean Wilson James manages to look unnervingly calm.

"Why would you think I'm pretending?" James asks, drifting towards a rose bush that has pink and white blooms held aloft sturdy stems. His fingers caress the petals of one of the larger flowers.

"No one really  _cares_." His irritation is increasing to the point that pummelling the principal sounds like a good idea. "You all just want to get inside my head and turn me into some golden boy and I'm not going to- I'll never be what they want because there'll always be  _her_  and that's just- No one  _cares_."

James barely moves as Sebastian's outburst starts to unravel his seams. "So because you're the oldest, you should be more adored?"

His nose wrinkles at the thought of being  _adored_. It sounds like a term someone would use to describe a mother with a newborn baby. "I already know I'll never be good enough for them so there's no point trying anymore," he mutters, turning away from the principal to stare at the tree again. The rage that had bubbled to the tips of his fingers seems to have dissipated, replaced by an icy wash of hurt and loneliness that leaves him feeling sick.

"What do you need to try to be?" James says, his footsteps approaching Sebastian but offering a wide berth as he moves around him to sit on the bench beneath the tree Sebastian that soaks up the tumultuous feelings within him the longer he stares at it.

He can feel James watching him and he lowers his head. His eyes prickle traitorously, his breathing hitching. "I'm not what they want," he mumbles.

"Ah, Sebastian…" James sighs, patting a spot beside him on the bench. When Sebastian peeks up, the principal wears an amused half-smile. "I won't eat you. Take a seat."

His chest hurts as he gives in and sinks to the uncomfortable stone bench. He wraps his arms around his stomach in a futile attempt to hold himself together when he's little more than a body full of broken pieces covered in skin.

"Sometimes, adults make mistakes," James muses. Sebastian looks out of the corner of his eye towards the principal and notes the slightly unfocused gaze directed at the expanse of green grass and multi-coloured flowers. "Sometimes, adults are too proud to admit it. Unfortunately, all that ends up doing is getting more people hurt."

Sebastian frowns as he looks from the principal to the flowers and hedges and trees surrounding them. He wonders what James is looking at. He wonders what James is thinking about. He wonders what James is talking about.

"And, sometimes, people favour one person at the expense of another's feelings," James continues with a distance in his voice that suggests he might be lost somewhere in a memory. "Just because some people make mistakes, just because some people don't demonstrate their care for you in ways that you desire, doesn't mean no one cares about you."

Sebastian ducks his head and swallows the sore lump in his throat. He knows all of this, instinctively, but it doesn't erase the ache that seems ever-present in his daily life. Having calmed down, he can accept Blaine cares even though he's not sure why. Perhaps his concern isn't that no one cares about him but rather that he's not sure there's anything about him worth caring about. He's just a piece of nothing, an unnecessary user of oxygen and food which someone else might need.

"If I've learned anything during my years, it's that it is a difficult thing to explain to someone why you care about them when they're used to being passed over," James says with a careful shrug, his head turning towards Sebastian. "You still care for their health and wellbeing. You still wish for every happiness and hope in the world."

James has spun as many tangled webs around him with vague sentences embedded with hidden messages as Therese in the hospital. He wonders if all intelligent adults are like that, determined to confuse teenagers as much as possible and he can't help wondering  _why_. Is it really so difficult to just offer clear, concise advice that was easy to follow? He's increasingly uncertain he'll ever find his way out of the riddle maze constructed by Therese and James. Maybe he doesn't want to.

"But Sebastian," James places a light hand on Sebastian's knee and draws him back to the present, "just because one person doesn't want you doesn't mean others will  _never_  want you. Just because  _you_  don't see a point right now doesn't mean there isn't one."

Sebastian lowers his eyes, forced to think about Lillian and Blaine. He hasn't seen Lillian since the day of her surgery and he hasn't heard from her. He wants to call and hear her voice but he also doesn't want to call in case he wakes her up when she should be resting and gathering all her strength into finally getting better.

And Blaine… He's scared that he's getting into a mess with Blaine that he can't escape from. Blaine means  _so_  much to him and…and maybe Therese was right: maybe Blaine  _is_  something he can lose and it's terrifying him. If he lost Blaine, he'd have almost nothing bright left in his life. Now that he's had a pocketful of sunshine for the past few months, he doesn't want to lose it because he's a careless asshole.

Which, if he's being honest, tends to be his normal reaction to things too good to be true.

"I asked you the day you arrived whether you were angry at your sister or jealous of her, do you remember?" James says, removing his hand and staring out across the gardens again with a look of deep concentration. It's a facial expression Sebastian could envisage James wearing while he meditates.

Sebastian forces a slow, deep breath. He could never be angry or jealous of Lillian. She's suffered enough. "I love Lillian," he whispers, closing his eyes as he recalls how small and pale she'd looked after the operation. Some nights, he makes wishes on eyelashes that he'll suffer a traumatic brain injury which keeps him living and his personality recovered but all his memories of Lillian looking frail and sickly were erased, unable to be accessed ever again.

"But her illness has caused problems with the relationship you have with your parents, no?"

Sebastian opens his mouth to defend Lillian before pausing. There's an element of truth in the principal's words he's not sure he wants to admit to. Hadn't Sebastian exploded with anger over much the same thing earlier? Then again, he can admit that there are problems between his parents and him but aren't some of those issues his own making? He can't blame Lillian for everything. He  _won't_.

"Lillian's illness doesn't mean I'm not their son too," he replies. It feels like an echo of Therese's words but to say it out loud… His heart twists with pain at the words. He doesn't like acknowledging how thoroughly his parents have diluted his position in their lives.

"Indeed." James hums a brief couple of bars of a tune Sebastian doesn't recognise, probably something ridiculously old, before he turns to face Sebastian. "So then why are you still trying to be good enough for them?"

James' question is so unexpected that he has to stop and think about the answer. He hates being disarmed so easily, to a level of stunned realisation where he's forced to re-evaluate everything. He thought knew where the conversation was going but now he's not sure of the answer to James' question. It's painfully logical and rational, sharpening the blurry pain on the edges of his vision into startling focus.

"Maybe if I can be good enough then…then they'll…want me again," he says, his voice weakening with the confession of one of his deepest desires. He squeezes his eyes together when he can feel them burn at the inner corners, forcing a deep breath in and out of his lungs to steady himself again.

Rather than dismiss his thoughts and feelings, James tils his head to the side with an expression of consideration. "Understandable," the principal concedes with a nod. Sebastian can feel eyes scanning his face, perhaps trying to see beneath the armour Sebastian is wearing in a desperate attempt to hold himself together. "Is there something wrong with being good enough for yourself?"

He blinks, and then frowns. "I don't understand?"

"Well, take for instance your grades," James says with a vague wave of his hand. "If you get As, then your parents might be proud and shower you with praise. They may offer smiles of happiness, then return to doting on Lillian. They may not even care enough to read your report card." James keeps his tone neutral and matter-of-fact. Sebastian wonders if that's why each possibility the principal offers him seems to pierce deeper into his heart. "So I ask you, what about your feelings? What if you can be happy with Bs? What if you show yourself how capable and intelligent you are under such extreme personal distress? What if you see yourself as someone worthy of the friendship offered by others? What if you accept that you're not going to be given up on by other people?"

It takes several minutes for Sebastian to process the words, to see beyond the pain carved into his bones by the portrayal of his parents' disinterest, and realise that James is trying to make him like  _himself_. The principal doesn't need to know about all the dangerous things Sebastian does to realise how broken he is inside. He knows from Lillian that healing is as much about the physical recovery as the mental, the emotional. He's seen his sister get knocked down countless times, and every time he's been awed by her ability to remain positive and keep going. He doesn't know how he's meant to achieve James' words but…he knows it's something he should aim to do. He doesn't want to doubt Blaine's friendship forever. He doesn't want to question Hunter's motives every time. He doesn't want to fear that losing Lillian will mean the loss of the only person he truly trusts.

"I could also use the example of your health," James says and Sebastian tries not to stiffen at the words that skirt too close to Lillian. "What if you heal and recover and find your own version of happiness? What if you find a new lease on life and graduate college, get married, start a family?"

Sebastian can't imagine settling down with anyone – he hasn't even  _kissed_  anyone – but he also understands James' suggestion: if he continues on his current route of abusing alcohol and marijuana then he might not see the future. He could destroy his body before he's even begun living. And while sometimes Sebastian can only see darkness and has no interest in what might happen in the next decade, Lillian having a new heart changes everything. How is he meant to destroy himself when he has the opportunity to spend time with her? How could he inflict the pain on her of watching him fall apart? He knows how badly he's coped the past four years being the older brother. He doesn't want his little sister to have any of that burden because he's too foolish to accept help and get better.

"Even if there is significant strain on the relationship between you and your parents, I imagine your sister still loves you as much as you love her," James continues, his tone gentle as he folds one leg over the other, his hands resting atop his knees. "I'm sure Lillian isn't the only person that wants what is best for you."

Yesterday, Sebastian would have known Lillian loved him. He could almost believe Blaine cared about him, and might have begrudgingly conceded to Hunter and Therese. Maybe he could even consider Wes among the very small circle of people.

Now, it feels like things have shifted. The friendship he has with his roommate is probably in as many pieces as the study plan Hunter had created for him. Without Hunter, he doesn't have Wes either. His circle has reduced substantially because of his own stupidity, his own carelessness, his own irrationality and fear.

"Dalton's doors will remain open for you in the summer, Sebastian," James says, his hand patting Sebastian's shoulder. "I want what's best for you too. If returning home isn't it, then you should know you will be safe here."

Sebastian wonders if the principal touching him is appropriate. It doesn't feel creepy or paedophilic but it's…unusual, he supposes, given his crappy experiences in public schools. The principals there tended to sigh a lot and complain he was too young to be wrecking his life. With James, the contact feels vaguely parental. Instead of the disappointed sights, James seems to be trying to impart some sort of wisdom that Sebastian is too young, too naïve, to fully understand.

When it feels as though James is preparing to depart and leave him with his thoughts, the fears that have doggedly pursued him since first period snap at his heels to be acknowledged again. "But what happens if…if I fail my exams next week?"

James offers a knowing, somewhat mysterious, smile. "We don't set our students up for failure, Sebastian."

The principal's words clash with what Hunter has told him about how the school operates. His heart flutters and he bites at his lip, staring down at his hands twisting together in his lap. "But…I'd have to repeat, wouldn't I? Or I'd get expelled?"

"The newbies still get told that?" James laughs, a low rumbling from deep within his chest. His mirth almost makes Sebastian uncomfortable. "I'll admit we can't allow students to progress through grades if they aren't learning requisite content, but we also don't allow our students to suffer because we're aware they are struggling with other issues." James pauses, looking Sebastian over. "A reader and writer can be arranged so you can complete your exams to the best possible standard. I've already requested your exams be modified so only content from this semester is included. It is pointless to disadvantage you with content you weren't present for to be something you are now graded on."

Sebastian gapes at the principal. He had no idea someone would have already recognised a problem and taken steps to fix it. He'd lied to Hunter about planning to see James tomorrow but evidently James was more intelligent, more aware, than Sebastian had let himself acknowledge. He feels guilty that he'd expected to be screwed over by a failed system once again.

"You might not receive the grades you want, Sebastian." James pats his knee before he stands and returns to the rose bush. "You might not even receive the grades which you think would be 'good enough' for your parents, but I'm well aware that school could be considered your lowest priority and I wouldn't blame you for feeling that way."

Sebastian watches the principal remove a pair of scissors from the inside of his jacket. His eyes widen when James snips the head off one of the pink and white flowers. He wonders what the punishment would be if a student was caught cutting the flowers.

"I don't set my students up for failure, Sebastian," James repeats, poking the rose stem through a button hole on his jacket. "If you are in need of assistance, my door is always open. Please remember that."

As James walks away, Sebastian is left to ponder whether the words are an obtuse reference to the emotions he'd had rampaging through him earlier, or if they're about the crisis he'd had over admitting to his sexuality, or if it's to do with his inability to function after his sister's surgery or, hell, maybe James knows more than he's let on about Sebastian's drug habits. There are so many possibilities which run through his head, so many thoughts about what he might assistance with, that he's forced to realise how screwed up he's become.

He starts to think he may need some  _serious_  help.

If he doesn't, he might never find his way out of the tangled mess he'd created for himself.

* * *

He sits alone at dinner.

It's the first time he's eaten alone since Lillian's surgery.

It's a devastating sign of the depth of his mistakes because he lacks Hunter's company. He hadn't realised just how much he'd grown used to it until he no longer has it. He pokes at the food with disinterest before he concedes he's just not hungry and abandons his plate. He casts his eyes around for Hunter, intending to apologise on the spot, until he realises Hunter isn't seated at the long table which the Warblers take up.

Increasingly insecure, he searches for a corridor that isn't likely to get frequented by anyone and pulls out his phone. He stares at Therese's number for a while, wondering if he should call her, except he knows that hers isn't the voice he needs to hear right now.

The connection clicks and he slips to the floor, folding his knees to his chest with his back against the wall.

"Hey."

"Hi," he whispers, lowering his head to his folded knees and imagining the colour of Blaine's eyes to keep him calm.

"How are you?"

"I…" He nips at each of his lips, wondering how to answer. James' words weigh on his mind and the guilt of Hunter missing dinner weighs upon his shoulders. "Have you ever wanted to…to be good enough for someone but…you just can't?"

He can hear the smile in Blaine's words when he responds and Sebastian spends some time recalling the curve of Blaine's lips when he was amused by something. "Yeah, I know that feeling. I'm gay, which is hardly what my parents want. I tried to make up for it, I worked myself half to death trying to do better, but the fact remains that I'm gay and I can't seem to get rid of that smear against me at the moment."

Sebastian nods slowly and realises that the separation he feels from his parents isn't necessarily isolated to him. He's not the only teenager that feels this way. Blaine clearly has problems with his parents too. It's…comforting, even if he's left with the urge to yell at Blaine's parents until they realise what an amazing son they have.

"And have you ever wanted to just…give up so you can prove they're right, that you aren't good enough?" Sebastian says, his words laboured by all the conflicted thoughts in his head. A long pause follows, one broken only by Blaine's quiet, steady breathing over the phone which tells him nothing about what the other boy is thinking.

"What do you mean by 'give up'?" Blaine says eventually and Sebastian recognises the implications behind the words he'd spoken which hadn't been his intention at all.

"I didn't mean that I'd… You know," he says awkwardly, waving his hand in the air even though Blaine can't see it. "Just… Exams are next week and… I mean, I'm probably not going to do well anyway so I… I'm not sure why I should bother studying."

"Thank God," Blaine breathes. Sebastian tries to smile at Blaine's relieved tone but the attempt at a smile wobbles with the internal crisis ravaging him again. "If you don't want to study, then you don't have study. What that means, though, is it's going to be viewed as proof by your brain that you can't do something and Seb? I  _know_  you could do anything you put your mind to."

His exhale shudders out of him as Blaine speaks his words with such confidence. Sebastian struggles to believe it. His automatic reaction is to dismiss and disagree with them but he keeps silent because he thinks it ties into what James was saying. He lacks conviction in himself, he lacks the belief and hope that everyone around him has. He's not sure when, or if, he'll ever feel the same but maybe he's not a monster either.

"You need to do what's right for  _you_  right now, Sebastian. Not what anyone else tells you to do," Blaine continues and Sebastian can almost imagine his fingers twisting through Sebastian's hair. The phantom hands against his skin are comforting and helps soothe some of the anxiety in his stomach. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Continuing to pretend he's curled against Blaine's body, he explains the stress of the exams and his spat with Hunter and the conversation with James. Blaine occasionally responds with questions to elicit more information but mostly he just listens and it reminds Sebastian about why he's so grateful he has the other boy as his friend. There's minimal judgement in any of the words Blaine speaks and it comforts him to know that he's not hated because of his ability to screw up all the time. He's pretty sure his parents would be filled with judgment and dislike at his actions. Blaine remains positive and nurturing.

"You know you have to apologise to Hunter, right?" Blaine says when he comes to the end of his pathetic tale of epic failure.

He sighs, knowing he has to, knowing he  _will_ , but knowing that accepting ownership of his mistakes means accepting he made it in the first place. And usually he'd just prefer to hide it all away. "Yeah, I know. I'm so dumb."

"Seb…" He can hear Blaine's concern through the phone, the longing to hold Sebastian close and help calm him down. "We just want what's best for you. We want you to heal and be happy. Lillian would, and I do, and I'm sure Hunter does too even though he's got a weird way of showing it."

Sebastian knows Blaine is right. Blaine is calm and logical, decisive with his words and quick to discern the problems that plague Sebastian's mind. Some of the illusion of Blaine's chest beneath his cheek begins to break because he needs to apologise to Hunter, needs to get his act together for his exams, and needs to figure out what he's doing over summer break.

"Thank you for being my friend," he says and manages a small smile when Blaine chuckles.

"Thank you for being mine."

He opens his eyes and straightens out his knees. His thighs have cramped with how long he's been crushed into a ball and he takes a few moments to register Blaine's silence. It's unusual and it stops him, his curiosity ratcheting several notches higher.

"Are  _you_  okay?" he says when Blaine seems to lack being forthcoming about whatever's on his mind. The feeling that something is  _wrong_  is so loud it's nearly deafening.

Blaine hums in his ear, which doesn't sound convincing. Sebastian struggles to his feet once the cramp has faded rolls his neck to work out some of the kinks across his shoulders. "They want to get me out of here in a couple of weeks," Blaine admits, his voice quiet.

" _Really_?" He casts his eyes around the corridors for a familiar picture or sculpture to begin the path back to his room. It takes a few moments before he sees something he knows and begins walking. "Blaine, that's  _amazing_! I'm so proud of you!"

"Yeah…" Blaine doesn't sound as certain, as proud of himself, as Sebastian would have expected. It stops him in his tracks, his brow crinkling together.

"What's wrong?"

"It's just…daunting to be going home," Blaine admits, his voice fading away to such an extent that Sebastian has to increase the volume on his phone to try to hear him. "I don't know what my plans are going to be for summer. I don't know what school I'll be going to in the Fall. I don't like uncertainty. I like making lists. I like having plans. I like clarity."

Sebastian begins walking again, mulling over Blaine's growing list of worries. It's nothing Sebastian hasn't already been thinking about but it's now affecting Blaine's happiness and wellbeing, and Sebastian doesn't want the other boy to lose his brightness and enthusiasm. "Do you know if you're parents are planning anything?"

"No," Blaine says with a sigh and Sebastian wishes he was there to wrap his arms around Blaine's body and protect him. "To be honest, I don't even know if I'm going to high school or if I have to repeat."

He remembers James' words from earlier, that Dalton students aren't set up for failure, that his exams will be modified, and he repeats a variation of them now in the hopes that it will reduce some of Blaine's uncertainty: "There are always options. I'm sure some slack would get cut after what you've been through."

He enters the dormitory wing and slows down. He knows he'll have to get off the phone soon. There are too many people around who could hear him.

"Yeah, maybe."

Sebastian wants to be able to reach through the phone and squeeze Blaine into a hug, taking away the sadness with his presence the way Blaine is able to do with his words. He doesn't like feeling useless, incapable of offering help to someone he cares about so much.

"You need to take care of yourself too, B," he says, leaning against a wall halfway down the corridor to his room and tipping his head back. "Besides, I plan on spending loads of time with you in the holidays so if you're discharged, that makes things so much easier."

"Wait… You do?"

He wonders why Blaine sounds so surprised. He glances sidelong at the phone with a faint frown creasing his eyebrows. "Of course I do."

"Oh…" Blaine's little exclamation is so breathy, so squeaky, that he suspects Blaine is blushing. He's not sure why and he's not sure why it amuses him so much but a small smile crawls across his lips at the image of Blaine with red cheeks and lowered eyes and a shy smile. "Well… Um… You go apologise to Hunter and I- I'll talk to you soon, yeah?"

He wants to say something about how adorable Blaine sounds but all he ends up saying is a lame, "Of course. Rest well."

Blaine echoes the words and the call ends. He strokes his thumb over the dark screen and pretends it's the dark curls that spiral over Blaine's head. He hopes Blaine's parents will let them see each other during the summer. He hopes wherever he ends up will allow him to see Blaine.

He pockets his phone and turns his attention to approaching his room. Every step feels like he's trudging through molasses as his trepidation rises, until he's standing outside his door like some sort of freak that won't knock and won't move. He tries to remind himself that it's  _his_  room too. He shouldn't feel so anxious.

The door is unlocked so he steps inside. He can hear the hiss of the shower pipes and accepts the momentary reprieve from having to face Hunter.

He takes the opportunity to remove his school uniform and swap into sweatpants and a t-shirt. He usually has a shower at night to rid himself of the grit and stench of a day surrounded by pretentious private school boys but he just wants to crawl into bed and hide for now. He draws the covers to his chin and stares at the ceiling, thinking about how the summer.

Ideally, he wants to return home so he can be with Lillian and shield her from any nightmares she might have. He wants to burn pancakes for her but put them on a tray anyway so she can eat breakfast. He wants to make pillow forts with her and hear her giggles as she confesses silly secrets to him. He wants to sit in the park on a blanket and feel the sun on his face and disagree about the shapes in the clouds. He wants to read her stories and-

The door to the bathroom opens abruptly and he reaches up a hasty hand to wipe away the tears that have trickled down his cheeks.

He tracks Hunter's movements and notices his roommate's studious avoidance of looking at him. It's similar to the last time they'd had a major argument and he thinks there's an irony somewhere. He just hopes there's no sex this time to make everything even more complicated.

"I'm sorry," he calls softly, his teeth skimming his lip. He watches Hunter's shoulders and neck stiffen as he fiddles with something on his desk.

"I'm sorry too," Hunter says, closing a couple of books and straightening his pencil case. The obsession with neatness has returned and Sebastian wonders if he triggered some sort of regression in Hunter's habits. "My words were hurtful."

He raises himself in the bed, folding his legs and fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. He hadn't expected Hunter to apologise. Even in all his conversation with Blaine, the possibility of Hunter apologising hadn't really come up. It makes him realise how much he hates them being so awkward and uncomfortable around each other.

"My exams are going to be modified but I… I should probably still study," he says, peeking up at Hunter because he's an extending an olive branch here and if his roommate burns it, he's not sure that they'll-

But Hunter turns, a faint smile on his face as he sits on the edge of his own bed. Sebastian can feel himself relaxing because it's normal and maybe all has been forgiven that easily.

"It's not a stupid idea to study," Hunter says, smoothing his hand across his blanket to get rid of a few wrinkles. "The exams just before Christmas were awful enough. I can't even imagine what they'll throw at us this time."

Sebastian scrunches his nose in distaste. He's hated exams for years but the Monday quizzes have been tough. He doesn't need anything worse than that.

"Look, I… I don't want to cause so many problems that you run out of here when summer break starts, desperately searching for a drink, but…I  _do_  care about your wellbeing, Seb," Hunter says, his eyes lowered to where his feet kick at the mattress on the side of his bed. It's the most nervous Hunter has ever looked and it does nothing to erase Sebastian's feelings. "If you'd rather I just butt out then-"

"I can't spend the rest of term not talking to anyone," he interrupts, his blood cool in his veins at the thought of being so isolated. "You saw what my parents were like. You know Blaine is difficult to see. Lillian is- Lillian. And I- I don't have anyone else here that I-"

He can't quite say that he  _trusts_  Hunter because some days, he's not sure that he  _does_ , but he needs Hunter to still talk to him. Even if his roommate upsets him or enrages him, he knows that lacking anyone to talk to will drive him to despair and he'll end up on a very fast descent into a very dark place that would become very dangerous once the summer holidays rolled around.

"I'm still your roommate, Sebastian," Hunter says, hopping off his bed and crossing to Sebastian's. "I'll still be here. You don't get to kick me out until the start of sophomore year."

Sebastian smiles weakly, unwilling to consider he has to go through a phase of getting to know someone  _else_ , of someone  _else_  finding out about all his hellish problems. Maybe it's just easier to keep Hunter close next year.

He shifts over on the bed when Hunter stands expectantly beside it, allowing his roommate to settle next to him. Their arms brush together and the contact offers some comfort to Sebastian that they'll be okay living together again.

"Did you call Blaine?"

He raises an eyebrow at Hunter, unsure of why that would even be something his roommate would ask.

"You always call Blaine when you need help," Hunter shrugs, elbowing him in the side playfully when Sebastian can't deny it. "Have you kissed yet?"

His jaw drops and he's left to gape at the other boy. "Have we-  _What_?"

"Oh  _please_." Hunter rolls his eyes and lies down on top of the blanket, apparently getting comfortable despite Sebastian having no intention of keeping his roommate in his bed for the night. He'll literally kick him out if he has to. "You're more touchy-feely than Micah and his girlfriend and they get so drunk at Warbler parties that we have to peel them apart to avoid them having sex on a couch in front of everyone."

Sebastian cringes at the crude mental image and thwacks Hunter in the stomach. "Blaine's my  _friend_ ," he defends, folding his arms over his chest.

"So you're fine with holding my hand, letting me touch your knee, putting your head in my lap so I can  _pet your hair_?" Hunter retorts. Sebastian mouth presses into a thin line when he realises his roommate has a point. He lets Lillian cuddle him because they're siblings but there's no way he'd let anyone else do that.  _Especially_  not a guy.

But Blaine is, apparently, an exception.

"I don't- We're not- He's- We're just  _friends_."

" _Riiight_ ," Hunter says, the elongation of the vowel making his disbelief abundantly clear. "He's cute though. I can see why you like him."

Sebastian refuses to acknowledge that his cheeks might turn a little pink and his glare at Hunter's smug face turns a little green with jealousy that someone else has noticed. He also won't acknowledge how possessive he feels about his friendship with Blaine remaining  _his_  without Hunter jabbing at them.

"You're not gay. Now go back to your bed and leave me alone to be mad with you," he grunts, kicking his ankle into Hunter's calf. His roommate bubbles with laughter, flipping him off as he slides from the bed and returns to his side of the room.

"Try not to think of his lips around your dick in your dreams," Hunter sing-songs as he shuts off the light and crawls under the covers of his bed.

Sebastian spends at least a minute gaping in the dark at the faint outline of his roommate's body, unable to think about anything else.

* * *

Like they've done so many times before, he finds a routine with Hunter where they study in their room. Books are spread out across their floor and the two of them seem to move between the floor, desk chair and bed depending on which muscle gets most uncomfortable at their previous position. They take turns reading out important points – and Hunter still teases him for his stilted and slow reading which he'd like to think has improved – and sometimes he jots down notes. Hunter takes more meticulous notes but his roommate has always been eccentric and excessive.

On Friday, he meets the person that will be his scribe for the exams. Tim is a junior, on the soccer team, and stands at least half a foot taller than Sebastian and several inches wider. They chat briefly to allow Sebastian the opportunity to gauge whether he trusts this guy to honestly and accurately read and write his exams for him. With his dark brown hair and bright blue eyes, he seems a strange mix of exuberant teen and wise man.

"Tim had an older brother," Hunter confides later that night when Sebastian tells him about meeting the older boy and the odd feeling he'd had during their encounter. "He was killed in a car accident a few years ago which left Tim with two sisters. I think he's mentored a couple of freshman this year as some sort of 'pay it forward' memorial thing to his older bro."

Sebastian could imagine Lillian doing the same thing if he ever died because she's so warm and loving, except his death would be from his own stupidity – most likely from drinking and smoking too much or getting into a car while drunk and high.

On Saturday, Hunter goes into some sort of ultra-focused study mode thing which almost borders on scaring Sebastian. Sure, he wants to  _try_  to pass but Hunter seems to fall into some sort of study  _trance_ thing which is downright weird. He ends up backing away to go to lunch and doesn't return until later that evening after spending several hours listening to music in the sun outside. It had been nice to unwind and feel the heat on his face, although it hadn't been as good as having Lillian beside him to argue over the shapes made by the clouds.

On Sunday, his phone rings with an unfamiliar number and the loud vibrating of his desk scares both of them from their study mode. Hunter huffs a complaint at the device skittering across the wood and he mutters a half-assed apology as he scoops up the phone.

"Hello?" he says, highlighting a point that Hunter was certain was  _vitally important_  even though he was pretty sure Hunter had consumed every word in every textbook they had and could recite it verbatim if asked.

"Sebby?"

The name catches him so off-guard that he drops the highlighter. It leaves a bright pink splotch in the middle of the notes he'd hoped to keep neat for studying throughout the week but none of that matters right now.

"Lils?" he says, his voice cracking even though he tries to hide it.

The nickname must catch Hunter's attention because he can see his roommate freezing from the corner of his eye. His fingers tremble as he caps the highlighter because he doesn't want to get pink all over his sheets.

" _Hi_ ," his sister breathes, sounding delighted, and tears spring to his eyes because  _God_ , he's missed her. He discards his notes and folds his knees towards his chest.

"Hey, kiddo." He tries to inhale deeply but something gets lodged between his lungs that makes it hurt. He wants the conversation to be completely normal but he's fractions of a millisecond away from dissolving into tears that he's not sure he'd be able to stop. "This is a surprise."

"I've spent  _days_  begging Therese for a phone. She's been so fussy and annoying," Lillian grumbles and he smiles as twin streams of dampness streak down his cheeks. "How are you, dummy?"

He chokes on a wet laugh and she gives a soft giggle that only makes his urge to cry increase. "I miss you every day," he confesses, wiping at his face as discretely as possible. He knows Hunter is definitely staring at him and he feels horribly self-conscious, but he doesn't want Hunter to leave the room either.

"Not as much as I miss  _you_. Imagine when I woke up from this super big surgery and all I saw was  _Charlie's_  dumb face." He can imagine his sister's outraged pout at the words and manages another wet laugh. "I wanted  _you_."

He turns his head to the side so he can sniff away from the speaker of the phone. He doesn't want to betray that he's crying to Lillian if he can avoid it but hearing her voice is completely overwhelming. It's the last thing he'd expected. He thought she'd still be totally out of it and recovering. He had no idea when she woke up but it's such a relief that he's struggling with the shock.

His bed dips as Hunter sits beside him. A large hand settles between his shoulder blades for support and it helps him breathe.

"Charlie saved your life," he points out but Lillian grunts in disagreement and he's filled with such warmth, such fondness, for his sister. He'd forgotten this stubborn side of her when her health had been better.

"Charlie's not my brother, dummy," Lillian says. "You were meant to stroke my hair and kiss my cheek and say you were glad I was awake and I was meant to roll my eyes and tell you that you were too pretty to cry and I didn't want your snot on me."

His attempt at laughing breaks in the middle, unable to contain the emotions that seem to be spilling to each nook and cranny of his body. Hunter presses closer and Sebastian ends up tucked beneath his roommate's armpit, leaning into the embrace because he might just go to pieces after this phone call.

"Don't cry, Sebby," Lillian whispers when he doesn't try to hide the sniffles and unsteady breathing that have taken over him. "I hate the thought of you crying and I'm not there."

"It's only because I'm so happy," Sebastian whispers back, pressing a hand to his chest like he can stop it aching. He wants her in his arms, her little face pressed into his neck like when she was five and came running into his room after a bad dream. He wants to cradle her against him and breathe in the scent of her vanilla soap and strawberry shampoo. "I love you  _so_  much, Lils."

"I love you  _more_ ," Lillian retorts before adding, "and I have a bigger heart that functions properly now so that's totally possible, you know."

The spark in his sister, which had been absent for at least a year, has returned in full force. It's almost enough for Sebastian to reconsider his uncertainty about returning home for the summer. If Lillian is there, then he wants to be there too. If his parents hate him, then… Well, it's not like Lillian didn't already know and hated their parents for it.

"How are you, poppet?"

She explains, carefully and steadily, that she woke a little over a week ago and hadn't fully understood what was going on after so many months in and out of consciousness. Much like him, she'd pretty much given up on ever receiving a transplant a couple of years ago. Both of them had lain awake one night holding each other when she'd asked him how he'd cope when the surgery wasn't successful.

 _When_ , not  _if_.

They'd lost hope so many years ago that now it seems hard to imagine everything is going to be okay.

Lillian talks about getting to eat lots of ice cream because she can. She tells him about all the sleeping she's doing because she still gets tired easily while her body adjusts. She mentions that their parents visit a lot but sometimes she pretends to get sleepy just so they'll leave her alone. She says Therese had stopped by a few times and Lillian had been asking about Sebastian. He wonders if he should reach out to Therese so he can get more regular updates – or contact – with his sister, but once he makes that call, once Therese has his number, he expects the nurse to be calling and checking on him more frequently than he's comfortable with right now.

"I wanted to hear your voice so badly though," Lillian concludes and by the time she's done, Sebastian has given up trying to keep control of himself. He's been crying silently into Hunter's arms throughout most of her speech. He almost thinks he's going to need a new heart too with how badly his chest aches. Listening to his sister reminds him of how distant he's been – largely because of their parents – and he misses her terribly. "So anyway, there any boys you like yet?"

" _Lillian_ ," he chides but she giggles and it brings a smile to his face. "I  _told_  you that I wasn't going to discuss that."

"But  _Seb_ ," Lillian whines, just like she would when she was younger and wanted extra ice cream or to shove her Brussel sprouts onto Sebastian's plate, "if I have a boyfriend I want to know  _everything_  about boys and now you can tell me because you'll have first-hand knowledge of what it's like to be one  _and_  kiss one."

"Oh my  _God_ ," he mutters under his breath, covering his face with his hand as his cheeks burn red. He can't tell what's more mortifying – the fact that his sister imagines having a boyfriend and he's going to have to defend his little sister's honour, or the fact that she wants to know what it'd be like kissing a boy because he will be.

Maybe.

Eventually.

….Hopefully.

"And I want to know what they smell like and what they like to eat and see at the movies and-"

"You could just ask  _me_  those things," he says and Lillian huffs. He can imagine the cross look on her face as her pale eyebrows draw together in disbelief that he's so stupid.

"You're my  _brother_. I already know all of those things. I need to know things about boys that are  _boyfriend_  boy things."

He honestly has no idea what the difference is but he guesses it must make sense in her mind and the silliness of the conversation has slowed the tears and brought a smile back to his face again.

"Thank you for calling," he says, inhaling deeply without pain for the first time since he'd answered the phone.

"Thank you for answering," Lillian chirps and he rubs another hand across his cheeks to get rid of the mess of tears. "I'll try to call again soon. Do you know what you're doing for the summer holidays?"

Sebastian isn't entirely certain how long his sister has been awake and alert enough to put all the pieces together but she seems pretty aware of everything going on around her, including all the complicated parts of his life that he hasn't figured out yet. He wonders if someone has told her everything or she's just a tiny perceptive genius.

"No."

"Well, Therese told me that you were welcome at her place and that I could come over whenever I wanted to spend time with her daughters and you. So I mean, if you don't want to be stuck at that fancy private school or caged in by our villainous parents, then I vote that option."

One of his major uncertainties is the imposition that it would place on Therese to stay with her. Just because she's offered doesn't make him believe he's truly  _wanted_  there because who  _wants_  to have another teenager with drug problems stay with them? Wouldn't he be an awful influence on Therese's little girls, just like his parents thought he would be on Lillian?

"Thank you for the suggestion," he says, knowing another part of his indecisiveness is what will maximise his time with Lillian and Blaine without placing them in harm's way. "I'll take your thoughts under consideration."

"Your formality sounds like something dad would say," Lillian mutters and Sebastian feels guilty and unhappy at the comparison but knowing that yes, his father did speak like a man capable of boring people to tears. "Just… Choose whatever will make you happiest and keep you safest, Sebby. You should also know that every opportunity I get is going to be spent with you so you should be totally prepared for that."

He smiles and sits himself up again, shrugging off Hunter's arm. His shock at Lillian calling has faded, replaced with such immense relief that he feels like he could float high enough to live among the clouds.

"I love you, Sebby."

His heart expands with happiness and warmth at her words. "I love you too, Lils," he replies.

Hunter smooths a hand down his back as they exchange more tales about entirely random things and Sebastian knows he has to see Lillian as much as possible in the summer holidays. The question he can't answer is where that will be.

* * *

_**~TBC~** _


	19. Chapter 19

**Title:** Creeping On A Stranger  
**Word Count:** 9,560 ****  
Summary: Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents. ****  
**Disclaimer:**  I am in no way associated with  _Glee_ , FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:**  Nothing more than usual.

* * *

Sebastian finds it difficult to sleep on Sunday night because his feelings after Lillian's call are still so erratic and uncontrolled. On the one hand, it had been amazing to hear her voice just before his exams because it reassured him that she was doing okay and reminded him that he had a reason to do well. On the other hand, it's a terrible distraction because all he can do is just keep replaying her words and wishing he was there with her.

Each exam on Monday sees him in a small conference room in the library with Tim. Where he can, he reads the questions aloud and then speaks the answers for Tim. Tim writes down what he says in a quick but neat scrawl and occasionally Sebastian glances at the paper to ensure it's accurate. He doesn't want to be marked on work that isn't his – even if Tim could get him a few extra marks. He knows he'd prefer to feel shitty over a C than feel proud over a B he hadn't actually earned.

He spends the night studying with Hunter and a new routine develops over the ensuing days as he completes his exams. Surprisingly, he finds he's far less stressed having Tim as a reader and writer because whenever he stumbles over the words, he has the opportunity to discuss it with someone until it makes sense in his head. Tim doesn't offer too much clarification and he never suggests better ways of phrasing the response, but Sebastian knows he feels less anxiety with Tim there. Trying to understand the complicated words and painstakingly transcribing his thoughts into writing feels impossible.

Several times, he feels ashamed to confess that he has no idea what he's read and even when Tim reads it for him, it's nothing he's familiar with. He immediately thinks it must be something from the first semester – something James said wouldn't be in his exams – but maybe it's just something he hasn't had time to revise with Hunter and it was covered during his absences this semester, or after he'd walked out of one of his many classes.

Overall though, regardless of what his actual result might be, he's satisfied he gave his exams the best shot possible and he's grateful for Tim's assistance and Hunter's help studying.

At lunch on Friday, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He frowns at " _BLAINE_ " plastered across the front and immediately answers because it's unusual for Blaine to call during school hours. He'd already been planning to call Blaine that evening anyway.

"Hey, B," he says, turning away from the conversation Hunter and Wes have been in the middle of which is something about end-of-year Warbler numbers. He wasn't particularly interested in it nor was he interested in the pasta lunch he'd selected, making for a very boring lunchtime.

"I'm getting discharged!" Blaine exclaims, and the transformation from the fearful, unsure Blaine of a couple of weeks ago to the excited boy on the phone takes him by surprise.

He smiles, ducking his head to shield the phone from all the noise in the food hall. It's already a strain to hear Blaine on the phone sometimes. "When's it all going down?"

"Sunday!"

"Congrats, B," he says, immensely proud when he recalls how small and fragile and broken Blaine had looked in the hospital bed months ago. To think that that boy had become his closest friend, had survived and was now getting released from hospital… He wishes he had the words to express how happy he is for Blaine. "You mustn't be so gimpy now."

Blaine scoffs and he chuckles. He's pretty sure that part of his teasing will never fade. "I'm not  _gimpy_. I'd like to see what you'd look like after what I went through."

"I wouldn't be strong enough to survive it," he says, knowing he's barely been strong enough to get through Lillian being sick, and Blaine hums in acknowledgement. Part of him had wanted Blaine to disagree and say that of  _course_  he'd survive it too. He's not sure how to feel by Blaine's lack of confidence in his coping abilities, although it's not like he can blame Blaine for that.

As the phone call wraps up, he wonders if it would be possible to get out of school tomorrow to see Blaine. He's not sure he'd be able to visit Blaine at his house and if he gets out for a day, he wouldn't be able to visit Lillian  _and_  Blaine. The fact he may not see Blaine for  _weeks_ , until summer break when neither yet know where Sebastian's going to say, makes his only opportunity both terrifying and tempting. He's afraid he's going to develop Blaine withdrawals.

"Was that Blaine?" Hunter asks and Sebastian tosses a glare at his roommate.  _Why_  does Hunter care so much?

"Who's Blaine?" Wes says, his eyes wide with interest.

"None of your business," Sebastian snaps, flinging a piece of carrot at Hunter and earning him a look of outrage.

* * *

Once classes are over for the week, Sebastian pushes his way through the crowded corridors towards James' office. It takes him longer than he'd anticipated and when he arrives, the secretary who sits at the outside desk is gone. His heart sinks, imagining that James has already gone. If he can't see Blaine, he'll have to accept it but…he approaches the closed door to the principal's office anyway. His heart jumps when he hears a voice inside and hesitantly knocks his knuckles against the wood.

He waits a few seconds before knocking louder. He's almost certain he can hear James' intonations inside and guesses the principal is on the phone. The minutes he waits outside are painfully long and he's almost decided to give up when the door swings inwards.

"Sebastian!" James opens the door wider and extends an arm to welcome him in. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Sebastian bites his lower lip and briefly glances at the floor before he enters. He's not sure he'll ever feel comfortable entering a principal's office, even if it's of his own volition, even if he's not in trouble. A principal just has so much  _power_.

"I… I was wondering if I could get a leave pass for tomorrow," he says, pressing his fingers into the back of one of the plush chairs in front of James' desk.

"Oh?" James' eyebrows rise as he approaches his desk and closes a thick book. "Any particular reason?"

Sebastian knows he could be honest. It would be easy to say he's visiting a friend in hospital before they get discharged but…is he still likely to get the release from school if he does? Maybe Lillian's health is his only leverage. It's not like he doesn't plan to visit her tomorrow too.

"My sister called me on Sunday," he says, scratching behind his ear nervously and scraping some of the hair on his head into a neater arrangement. "I've been thinking about visiting her all week but I got distracted by my exams."

James beams at him and pulls a piece of paper free from a drawer. Sebastian already knows the leave pass is guaranteed and some of the tension unspools in his chest. "So you  _did_  decide to study for your exams?"

Sebastian shrugs and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Can't James just sign the form so he can obtain the piece of paper and then escape? Why does he have to endure an interrogation?

"How is your sister recovering?" James continues when he realises Sebastian has no intention of responding to the previous question.

"I don't know. That's why I want to see her." He winces half a second after he says it, thinking his tone sounded rude and the abruptness of his sentences was unnecessary.

The principal glances up at him with a quirked eyebrow that betrays his disapproval of how Sebastian had spoken. "But you spoke to her?"

Sebastian decides it's easier just to nod this time and James appears satisfied. He lowers his gaze back to the paper, inking elaborate flourishes of letters and words in the appropriate boxes.

"Then am I safe to assume she's doing well?" James says, signing his name at the bottom and folding the paper in half.

"Well enough, I think. I hope so," Sebastian murmurs, taking the piece of paper the principal extends to him and holding it to his chest. He knows that Lillian might be talking now but her body could still be actively working to reject the heart she'd been given. And if her body rejected the organ, then…

Well, he doesn't want to think about it.

"Pass on my best wishes to her for a speedy recovery," James says, settling into his seat and propping his head in his hand as he looks at Sebastian. "How did you find your exams?"

Sebastian's not sure he hides the surprise on his face at James' apparent care for his sister's health. Perhaps the little olive branch extended to him explains why he dares to extend a little olive branch in return. "I appreciated having Tim assist me. Removing the distraction of other students which can be incredibly stressful when you don't understand something but have to intensely focus… I think that helped too."

James nods, his lips twitching into a small smile. "And the content?"

"There were questions I had no idea about but I… I did what I could, I guess," he says, his voice trailing towards a mumble and his eyes falling towards the floor.

He notices James' wide smile from the edge of his vision but Sebastian doesn't return it. "That's all anyone could ask of you after the year you have had, Sebastian. Do you hear me?"

Sebastian recognises James' reinforcement of the idea that he's  _tried_ , he's done  _enough_ , but Sebastian's not sure he'll be convinced of that until he gets his marks. He has a feeling that when he gets  _those_ , he'll be disappointed and unhappy he didn't do better. It's a vicious cycle.

For now, at least, he has to concede that he gave his exams a try. He knows it's been a while since that happened.

"Enjoy seeing your sister tomorrow," James says, unearthing his glasses from beneath a pile of papers which look set to cascade over the floor at a moment's notice.

"Thank you, Sir," he says, feeling a brief stab of guilt at the lie, at his prior rudeness, before he turns to leave. He's relieved to have the opportunity to leave but then a thought flashes through his mind when he gets to the door and pauses. "Sir?"

James looks over his glasses with raised eyebrows. "Yes?"

He struggles to meet James' eyes as he tries to phrase the words in his head as delicately as possible without giving away the reality of the situation or betraying his real intention for travelling to the hospital tomorrow. He's not even sure whether his question has an answer but he knows he has to ask it.

"If a student had…missed most of school this year," he begins, licking his lips as his eyebrows crease together, "which was their final year of middle school because…because something pretty bad had happening to them, would…would they be eligible to apply here?"

Wilson James stares at Sebastian for a long moment before he removes his glasses. His gaze narrows, his stare critical and examining of Sebastian's appearance but it feels like more than that. It feels like the principal is trying to see past the hypotheticals and discern the truth. Sebastian can already feel his stomach twisting and twitching. Did he say too much? Would it have been better to say nothing at all?  _Why_  did he say anything in the first place?

"We assess all circumstances individually," James says slowly, his fingers reaching for a tissue and starting to polish the lenses of his glasses. "After all, you would be aware of how much school you missed these past years but we still accepted you into our community."

Sebastian attempts to hide the way he presses his lips together. He can't compare his situation to Blaine's. The destruction to Sebastian's schooling abilities, his attendance and his knowledge, was entirely his fault. His parents would probably argue that everything he's ever screwed up was solely on him. Blaine's different, though. Blaine was a victim of someone else's cruelty, even though he's shown tremendous strength and courage in the months since Sebastian had started talking to him.

"We do not guarantee admission but we also do not guarantee rejection," James says and Sebastian is smart enough to ascertain that James isn't giving anything away. James can't ensure Blaine can come – even if his parents have the tuition fees – but maybe there's a  _chance_ , even if it seems remote. Doesn't he owe it to Blaine, to Blaine's safety in high school, to at least  _try_? Maybe that's why he had asked.

"Thank you, Sir," he says, polite but neutral as he departs the office and begins the walk to his room. His mind turns over the possibilities of Blaine being at Dalton – would Blaine get a single room? was it possible for Blaine and Sebastian to share? – and his very real concerns that if Blaine ended up at Westerville High, he might get harmed all over again…or worse.

Sebastian can't –  _won't_  – allow that to happen.

* * *

It's strange visiting the hospital now that he knows there's a network of spies operating around him. Although he's sure that his mother has  _some_  true friends, he knows he feels far less paranoid about the various staff who watch him, who smile and wave, as he crosses the reception area to the lift. It feels like he's seeing the hospital in an entirely new light, one where he's no longer the tarnished son of a respected colleague but instead someone who, loathe as he is to think it, might actually be  _pitied_  because of the knowledge that said colleague is a completely ineffectual parent for their eldest son.

He's not sure how comforted he is by the opposing ideas.

He asks at reception whether his sister is still in the CICU or has returned to the PICU and he's glad she's returned to the PICU because, once he gets there, he receives a tired smile from Sinead who points him towards Lillian's room. The PICU is familiar and, though a ward for acutely ill patients, far less terrifying to him than the CICU. The CICU is filled with too many memories of surgeries gone wrong. At least the PICU has pretty pictures of flowers and stickers of Disney characters along the walls which were painted a pale, calming green rather than a too-cheerful pale yellow.

He lets himself into her room as quietly as possible because it's barely nine and he's not sure what her sleep patterns are like these days. It only takes him seconds to realise that he needn't have bothered trying to creep inside: the TV is on, the volume is low, and he recognises the Saturday cartoons instantly.

"Sebby!"

Lillian nearly flings herself from the bed in her excitement to hug him. The only reason she stays in the bed is because he moves to embrace her so quickly. He's aware of all the tubes and wires and leads attached to her, the machines which surround her. He's not sure whether she has any stability or the strength in her legs to stand.

But none of it seems to matter.

"I've got you," he murmurs, being careful with hugging her even as she fists tiny fingers into his t-shirt. She's so precious and fragile, so delicate and frail that he worries he'll squeeze her too tightly and her bones will shatter. He noses at her hair, the curve of her ear, and presses kisses to the soft skin of her cheeks when he reaches them. She doesn't smell like vanilla soap and strawberry shampoo, but she's  _alive_ , she's gripping him with more strength than she's had in years, and it's enough to make him want to cry.

"I love you so much," Lillian whispers, sniffling as she clings to him, nuzzling her face into his neck like he'd imagined a week ago.

"And I love you," Sebastian replies, tucking her into his arms as thoroughly as he can. For all the differences in her scent, despite knowing she's not completely healthy, she's his little sister and she's awake and she survived transplant surgery and he's pretty sure he's never loved her more than right now, right at this moment, when he savours the closeness between them.

Eventually they untangle  _just_  enough that Sebastian is able to lay on the hospital bed with Lillian pressed into his side, her face resting on his shoulder. His initial plan to watch cartoons together is forgotten when Lillian apparently prefers to spend more time watching him.

"Whaaaaaaaat?" he grumbles, prodding her side and eliciting a squirm and a giggle.

"Noooooothing," Lillian replies, her eyes widening in an expression of innocence that is both adorable and completely fake.

He scowls and settles his hand on her waist in a manner which is  _meant_ to be both comforting and threatening. "You tell me what's going on and I won't tickle you half to death."

Lillian pouts but when his fingers move against her waist in a display of what's to come, her defiance crumples and he tries not to grin too much in victory.

"I've just missed you so much," Lillian says, brushing her fingers over his chest. "This was an awesome surprise and I'm so glad you came."

"Of course I came," Sebastian says with an eye roll and a brief squeeze of her side. "You're my little sister and I've missed you."

"Yeah, yeah," Lillian huffs, nuzzling her nose into his neck. It tickles and he squirms, but he can feel the warm puffs of her exhalations against his skin and it's completely reassuring that her body still contains enough liveliness that she can breathe on her own now. Her quiet voice breaks into his calm reverie. "How are you, Sebby?"

He tilts his head towards hers, brushing a kiss to the top of her hair. He hoped Lillian would grow out of her perceptiveness one day, otherwise he was going to be screwed by her awareness of his inner turmoil. "I'm meant to ask  _you_  that."

"I'm sure you know how I am," Lillian laughs breathily, more tendrils of air licking Sebastian's skin, "but I have no idea how you are."

He cradles her against him, as if she might tear herself away when she hears all the horrors he'd held close to his chest for years. The anxiety builds in his chest. He tries to work out the easiest, gentlest way to explain what he does when he's not with her. She's been so sick the past two years that he's worked hard to conceal everything but he can't keep hiding it anymore. He's not sure he wants to.

"My roommate found out I'd been doing something…bad and now he's trying to help but it's…" His fingers skim up her spine as he sorts through his words. "I guess I don't really want his help."

Lillian's fingers span wider against his chest. She wriggles closer, any space between them vanishing as she clings to him. "Why not?"

He frowns and purses his lips at the question. He's not sure how many other eleven-year-olds would ask such a thing. It's certainly not a question he'd expected her to ask and he's forced into silence to consider it. His pride might be a factor because he doesn't really fancy Hunter seeing him at such a low point. His distrust is another, because he can trust Lillian with everything and Blaine with almost everything but Hunter is someone he still seems to be wary of in case the power he gains is too much.

"Because he… I don't really have a problem and he's blowing it out of proportion," he mumbles,  _lies_ , as he stares at the ceiling. He knows he could say many things about why he doesn't want to tell Hunter but to pretend it's not a problem is born of his protectiveness of Lillian. He doesn't want to burden her with the stress of his carelessness and stupidity. "I'm not as stupid as he thinks. I can take care of myself."

Lillian hums softly in acknowledgement, her fingers drifting in aimless patterns against the side of his chest she's not laying on. She spends several minutes thinking and he spends several minutes praying she's not going to try running away from him. "What you're doing, this bad thing?" she begins, the hesitation clear in her tone. "Is it dangerous?"

He bites his lip because he doesn't want to lie. Not to such a direct question. He wants to say it's not, that it's under control, but he remembers the cold reality of his fury after finding out Hunter had poured out his two bottles. He's not sure when it had reached that point but…it's a problem. Is it dangerous? Maybe. He knows the dangers of mixing weed and alcohol but it's not like he does either to excess when he's on his own. One of the guys would call an ambulance if he keeled over, right?

The silence that stretches on while he debates what to say lasts too long. Lillian peels herself away from his side and looks at him with the kind of studiousness he usually associates with Hunter.

"Seb?" she prompts, her pale eyebrows drawing together above wide green eyes, her mouth parted in fear. "What have you been doing to yourself?"

He tries to look away from her but they're cut from the same cloth – the stubbornness that is infused in every part of Sebastian's body is coated along Lillian's DNA. She might have a foreign heart pumping blood through her veins, but she's still his sister. They've always looked out for each other and he's defended Lillian for the past four years to anyone who tries to get under his skin. He shouldn't be so surprised that her small hand cradles his cheek, insistently dragging his eyes back to hers.

Her panicked expression breaks his heart. He's never wanted Lillian to worry about him.

"I haven't… I wasn't able to cope with you being so sick," he admits in a whisper, cupping her elbow to hold her steady when he feels the wobble of her body. It's clear she still has a lot of strength to gain back, that her muscles remain weak despite the new heart. It's difficult to maintain eye contact with her when she looks so scared, more scared than after her worst nightmares. "I thought… I thought that numbing myself to the pain was just… It…helped me get through the weeks."

"I don't…understand," Lillian says slowly, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Her thumb smooths over his cheekbone rhythmically, her eyes staring into his. She's not running away. She's not leaving him.

 _Not yet_ , a small voice taunts.

"I… I d-drink," he blurts out, his voice betraying him by wobbling with the uncertainty he feels at confessing any of this to anyone – including his sister. Perhaps  _especially_  his sister. He loves her to death and he wants to remain the strong, capable big brother in her eyes. Admitting this is like admitting to being a massive failure. "I drink too much alcohol and I- Sometimes I take drugs and get high and I just- I didn't want to hurt anymore, Lils. I didn't want to feel so scared that you might not-"

He can't finish the sentence but his sister understands. She presses her face into his chest and he can feel her shoulders trembling as she clings to him. He fully expects she's trying to hide that she's crying but it's nothing that he isn't working to stop himself from doing.

"Is that why mommy and daddy sent you away?" she sniffles into his collarbone.

"I-" He swallows at the lump that forms in his throat at her words. He can't keep fighting it anymore. He can't keep denying it. He can't keep pretending that there are other reasons his parents might hate him. They don't know he likes boys, so this is all they have. "Probably," he confesses.

Lillian wraps around him as best as she can in the bed. It reminds him of when she was younger, when he used to tease her and call her his mini monkey while carrying her in his arms from her bed to his after a nightmare or downstairs to get breakfast and watch cartoons. She's still every bit the mini monkey she once was. He knows he could probably stand and her arms and legs would grasp tightly at his neck and torso.

"I  _told_  you to stop hating yourself," Lillian says, the closest she can get to scolding him. He manages a weak smile and she wriggles beneath his arm, twining their fingers together. "I'm… So what now? What happens now that I've survived the transplant?"

He shrugs helplessly and Lillian squeezes his hand, coaxing him into attempting a response she may find adequate. "I don't know, Lils," he murmurs, pressing his lips to her forehead and breathing her in. "I still…want to, you know? Every time things get hard, whenever I get stressed, it's just…natural now to…to want what I've always used to get me through the tough times."

"Isn't that a problem then?" Lillian says gently, undemanding and non-judgemental. "Isn't it a problem that you started hurting yourself because I wasn't healthy, and now you want to keep hurting yourself even though I'm healthy?"

It hurts to hear his sister lay it out like that. Her assessment is simple, blunt, but also astute. He can't admit it out loud but she's right. He has to see that he has a problem because what he's doing isn't normal, at his age or even for someone ten years older than him. What he does has developed over a couple of years, and it was rooted in extreme levels of fear and pain, but now it's increasingly grown beyond his control. Like he'd told Blaine, he's not sure he wants to be like this anymore. He just doesn't know how to  _not_  be like this.

He suspects that the silence which lapses over them is enough for Lillian to know she's right.

He shuts his eyes and allows the silent tears to pool in the corner of his eyes before they trickle down his temples. Lillian has managed to force her words into the parts of his soul that hurt the most because she's his sister, she's the one who always knows him so well. All the times that she'd laid cuddled against him, confessing her fears, were just a rehearsal for him admitting to his own. Maybe that's how she finds ways past his defences and denials and shoves him towards acceptance – or, at the very least, acknowledgement.

"So, are there any cute boys at your school you've noticed yet?" Lillian chirps suddenly and he chokes on a wet laugh at the abrupt change of topic. She hears the crack in his tone and her hand reaches blindly for his face, smearing at the tears he'd tried to hide from her.

"I  _told_  you I'm not talking to you about that," he says gruffly.

"Which  _totally_  means there's  _someone_  otherwise you'd just say no," Lillian observes, peeking up at him with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. "What do I have to do to convince you to tell me?"

He screws up his face at her in a frustrated sort of pout-meets-glare expression and she snorts.

"I hope the wind doesn't change and you get stuck looking like that. He'd find it totally unattractive," she teases with a bright grin. He pokes her tummy and she squeaks and leans away from him as much as possible, her grin transforming into huge, hopeful eyes staring at him.

"There's this guy," he says, his gaze wandering away to the wall when Lillian's eyes light up with excitement. He can't  _believe_  he's talking to her about this but it's not like he's going to talk to his roommate about it. "He got hurt pretty badly at Thanksgiving and I… I'd really like him to come to school with me next year because I think it'd be safer for him."

"And because you'd be able to see each other each day," Lillian adds, earning another poke to her tummy. She's not wrong, but he refuses to acknowledge that his motivation might be for reasons other than centred around Blaine's safety.

"He's just… We talk a lot, y'know? I rely on him so much but…but I don't want to ruin the friendship by stepping too far. We both have so much to deal with and I don't want to…to complicate it or anything," he finishes lamely, feeling his toes wriggle at the end of the bed with the anxiety of telling her about Blaine. Since Hunter had demanded to know whether he'd kissed the other boy, since Hunter had suggested Sebastian wouldn't allow another guy to touch him the same way he let Blaine, he's gone through spells of thinking exclusively about Blaine. Usually late at night. Or when he was naked in the shower.

Which he wasn't going to tell Lillian about at  _all_.

"What's he like?"

A faint smile crosses his lips when he tries to describe Blaine's eyes to Lillian but he stumbles over the exact shade of gold and green because they aren't  _hazel._  He struggles to explain the precise way their hands fit together which keep him grounded. He tries to explain how Blaine manages to calm him down with a tone that toes the line between firm and caring, quelling even his biggest spiral towards falling apart. He tries to help her understand why Blaine has become so important to him over the past few months.

He thinks he sounds like a stuttering fool.

He's pretty sure he doesn't do Blaine much justice at all.

"You  _like_  him," Lillian muses, dragging her fingertips down his chest again and smiling shyly up at him. "Do you wanna kiss him?"

The same heat he'd had when Hunter had asked that question fills his cheeks and he presses his lips together. He thinks about it sometimes, about what kissing someone would be like, what kissing  _Blaine_  would be like, but he's too afraid of screwing everything up with their friendship to try.

"I just want to be a good friend to him," he says, unwilling to jeopardise everything because he doesn't understand his feelings.

"Yeah, but-"

There's a knock on the door before it opens. Sinead rubs a hand across her face as she looks at them.

"I've heard your father has arrived in the lobby," Sinead says, inclining her head as she glances towards the corridor. "I didn't want to interrupt but-"

"No, it's fine," Sebastian says hastily, kissing Lillian's forehead as he begins trying to disengage her fingers from his clothes. He's already amending his previous thoughts about the weakness in her limbs – she's stronger than she looks because he can't get her off. "I have to go, mini monkey."

"But dad isn't going to-"

"Trust me, dad isn't happy with me at all," Sebastian sighs, smoothing his hands against hers and trying to twine their fingers together so he can peel them away from his shirt. "I  _really_  don't want to see him right now, Lils. I adore you, more than anything, and you can call me any time but…I need to avoid him."

The edges of Lillian's lips turn down, her lower lip jutting in a pout, but she releases her grip and folds her hands against her stomach. "No more hurting yourself," she says, staring at him with more maturity than her years. "Promise me you won't do any more stupid stuff."

He promises her only because he knows she won't let him get away unless he does. He doesn't have the time to bargain for a change to the deal, but secretly he's not sure he'll be able to keep his word. Lillian doesn't need to know that but he feels horrible that he's not certain he can keep a promise to the person that means the most to him.

"I love you," he says, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. She brushes her lips against his temple before he draws away, her hand reaching for his.

"I love you too."

He squeezes her hand and then has to let go so he can leave. He heads for the exit at the back of the ward which leads to the stairs because he figures his father will use the elevator. He doesn't know if his mother will be accompanying his father but he refuses to take that risk either. Avoiding a confrontation is what forces him onto the fire escape, descending two floors while his heart pounds erratically in his chest. He hadn't prepared himself for such a close call with someone who loathes him.

He cuts through the unfamiliar ward until he reaches the lifts, jabbing at the 'down' button until an elevator arrives and opens its metal doors for him to hide himself within. The elevator car drops several levels until he reaches Blaine's floor and it's only because he knows neither of his parents would need to visit the rehab floor that he starts to breathe easier.

He treads the familiar path to Blaine's room and finds the boy curled up in bed, a book in his hands, again. He has a feeling that Blaine and Hunter would have plenty to talk about considering how much they both read.

"Surprise," he calls from the doorway, a small smile pulling at his lips when Blaine's face breaks into a wide grin.

"My favourite visitor!" Blaine closes the book and swings himself over the edge of the bed, arms opening to Sebastian. "Hug me!"

"You get bossier every time," Sebastian muses, dodging Blaine's playful swat at his head and swooping in to wrap his arms around Blaine's body. He's pretty sure his heart skips a couple of beats and his neck feels warmer when Blaine grasps at his shirt.

Considering his conversation with Lillian – and Hunter's suggestive words about the friendship he had with Blaine – he avoids holding on for too long. He fights down the urge to leave a press of his lips to Blaine's temple and the boy looks at him with an odd expression, like he knows there's something off about Sebastian's behaviour.

But Blaine moves on quickly, letting go and holding out his arms. "Look!" Blaine says, flipping his arms over.

It takes Sebastian a second too long to understand what Blaine is trying to show him. He offers a tentative smile as he skims his fingertips along the scar that snakes along Blaine's forearm, noticing the differences between each arm. The scar betrays which arm had been so badly damaged but it's no longer as thin as it was. The skin has lost its pallor, presumably because Blaine sits in the gardens so often. The muscles in the arm have regained some definition.

"So what am I going to call you if you're not gimpy anymore?" he says, ducking and sidestepping when Blaine kicks at his shin.

"You  _could_  just call me Blaine."

"Too mainstream," he retorts, smirking when Blaine glowers at him. It's fun to rile Blaine up, enjoyable to make him pout and blush and frown. It's not like Blaine can't tell he's joking. "So, you're getting out of here, huh?"

Blaine hobbles backwards until his thighs hit the bed. He sinks onto the mattress and Sebastian lies beside him, listening to Blaine's intended plans after his release. There are still  _weeks_  of homework he has to catch up and apparently Blaine's brother was intending on visiting during the summer. Blaine wanted to enjoy a picnic in his backyard and delete his Facebook and clean up his room.

Sebastian listens but he's acutely conscious of the contact points between his body and Blaine's. He keeps thinking about how he's deliberately avoiding reaching for Blaine's hand by folding his arms across his stomach. Despite how he tries to focus on Blaine's words, he knows he's a little lost in his thoughts because of Hunter and Lillian's words.  _Did_  he have feelings for Blaine? Did Blaine have feelings for  _him_? Or if he believed Hunter's observations about their friendship, would he screw everything up between them?

Blaine elbows him and it forces him back to awareness about how rude he's been. "If you don't want to pretend to listen to me, you  _can_  tell me to shut up, y'know."

His smile falters because his thoughts were in such crazy circles that he didn't feel like he could properly relax. He can't tell Blaine about how he feels because he needs to be certain that it's reciprocated. He can't lose everything because Lillian observed that he likes Blaine and Hunter thinks they're more than just friends.

He makes up an excuse which isn't entirely a lie. "I've just got a lot on my mind," he says

"Want to talk about it?"

He feels ashamed that Blaine opens himself up all the time, offering help whenever Sebastian needs it, and Sebastian tends to close himself off from being examined. It reinforces his feelings of being an inadequate friend and a useless listener. He knows he takes advantage of Blaine's kindness too often and he hates himself for it.

"I don't know what will happen when summer holidays start," he murmurs, taking the easy way out. He has no idea how to quantify his feelings into words and he's convinced he'll scare Blaine away if he does. "I don't… I told Lillian about…about my…habits and I- She got pretty upset."

Blaine shifts on the bed until his head is resting against Sebastian's shoulder, his fingers lingering against Sebastian's bicep. It's similar to Lillian earlier only Blaine's nothing like his sister. Blaine's another guy and, as much as Sebastian hates to admit it, maybe Hunter's right: he wouldn't let anyone else touch him this way.

"You could spend the summer learning that you're cared about and not alone," Blaine says, squeezing his bicep. "You could learn to grow stronger and fight back against what hurts you. Lillian's healing. This could be your opportunity to heal too."

He appreciates that Blaine doesn't directly state that he has a problem and the holidays can be used to get clean. He can't believe he's an…an  _addict_  just yet. It's a scary word that opens a world of scarier connotations.

Despite the distance Sebastian had tried to keep from Blaine, he's comforted by Blaine encroaching on his space. He's bound by blood to Lillian, a decade of sibling love and jealousy fusing them together for the rest of their lives. Blaine is…different. He's an anomaly, someone Sebastian allows close to him when no one else has a chance, someone that smooths Sebastian's rough edges until he almost forgets they existed.

"You aren't going home though, right?" Blaine says, interrupting Sebastian's internal musings.

He sighs, tilting his head towards the top of Blaine's hair. "I don't know," he admits, trying to stop his fingers from fidgeting towards Blaine's.  _Are_  they too close for two people that are just friends? He knows he wouldn't hold John or Aiden's hands this much if they were in the hospital, wouldn't climb into bed with any other guy and allow them to cuddle into him. "I doubt it."

"Do what feels right, but also choose the safest option," Blaine says gently, his hand curling around Sebastian's upper arm. "Wherever you are, I'll be around. We can hang out the whole of summer and whenever you feel particularly…needy for something to stop the hurt, I can be there. Just… Don't let yourself keep suffering with this on your own, Seb."

Sebastian lowers his cheek to rest against the top of Blaine's curls, inhaling deeply while processing the words. There's a part of him that feels – quite strongly – that his habits aren't that bad. Hunter and Wes and Blaine and maybe even Lillian don't really know what he does so that means they can't properly gauge how dangerous it is. He's a teenager and sometimes he drinks and smokes pot –  _big deal_. His connection with Terry, his friendship with the other guys, is something he knows he'd have to sacrifice if he wants to stay sober. Considering his circle of friendship is already limited, it isn't an appealing option.

Except he could recall Hunter's concern, when his stubbornness combatted Sebastian's own, after the second empty bottle had been discovered. He remembers Hunter's words about Lillian finding him – passed out, hungover, high, and unable to wake him – and it scares him. He knows he couldn't do that to her. It might just scare her so much that her new heart gave out. He doesn't care about his parents but his little sister is his world.

The silence that settles over them isn't uncomfortable with Blaine loosely entwined around him but it does start to feel awkward when Sebastian's not sure what he should say. He's still struggling with the thought of owning up to everything that he's done, too lost in his own head to be the sort of friend Blaine needs. At the same time, the other boy isn't attempting to pry into his thoughts nor is he drawing away from the tangle of their limbs to put distance between them. He's not used to being silent with someone for so long, with only the quiet, steady breaths of Blaine being heard above the buzzing in his head.

"I'm sorry I'm a terrible friend," he murmurs, voicing his loudest insecurity after laying in silence for so long. He's never really had a friend like Blaine before but it feels as though lying quietly with him is the wrong thing to do. He should be reassuring Blaine about his impending discharge, or finding out what Blaine's plans are for school in the fall, or paying attention to the fullness of his lips and analysing whether Blaine will kiss him back or not.

"You're the  _best_  sort of friend," Blaine says, rolling onto his side to curl closer to Sebastian's body on the confined hospital bed. "You're a good friend, Sebastian. You might think you're doing all the wrong things but it's comforting to lie here and be able to breathe calmly. I always enjoy you visiting and this is no exception."

Sebastian's never really considered Blaine's ongoing battle with anxiety. He wonders if it's in any way similar to his own but when he thinks about the considerable trauma Blaine had been through, he's not sure they're really that comparable. He wonders how the anxiety affects Blaine now and what can be done to alleviate the feelings. He wonders if Blaine has fears about going to public school, about juniors or seniors that might beat him up, about rumours of his sexuality getting passed around. He wonders about the numerous problems that Blaine could face in a new environment.

But was a suggestion that Blaine look into attending Dalton in the fall a wise idea?

As much as he wants to resist clinging to Blaine because he's afraid his feelings will be revealed, he realises he's being ridiculously stupid. He might not see Blaine until the summer, which is weeks away. And even then, he doesn't know what will happen. He has no idea when he'll see Blaine again and the fear of their friendship disintegrating with the distance and the uncertainty makes him curl an arm around Blaine's body, his nose pressing into Blaine's hair to inhale the scent of his shampoo.

"Thank you," he breathes and he wonders if it's his imagination that some of the tension in Blaine's shoulders seems to fade.

"You're welcome," Blaine whispers back, fingers spreading over Sebastian's belly.

The challenge in allowing himself to touch Blaine, in holding him closer, is that once he starts, he doesn't want to let go. They lay pressed together for a couple of hours and Sebastian thinks it might be the closest he's ever got to  _basking_. With Blaine cuddled against him, with Lillian doing okay, he thinks that maybe some of his problems have begun to alleviate. Maybe, just maybe, he  _should_  be spending the summer holidays sorting himself out. If he doesn't need to numb himself to stop thinking about Lillian on her death bed, then he doesn't need to drink so much.

…right?

He doesn't feel pressured to fill in the gaping silence between them with errant words. It would seem that Blaine feels the same since his fingers roam over Sebastian's chest but he doesn't say anything. Sometimes his hand is haphazard, like Blaine isn't sure what he's doing, and other times they seem to be possessed with a purpose that Sebastian doesn't understand.

"I know I probably won't see you again until the summer," Blaine says, his fingers tip-toeing towards Sebastian's heart, "but I hope you'll still answer my calls and texts until you can see me."

"Of course I will," he says, determination flooding him as he catches Blaine's hand in his. It draws the hazel eyes towards him which flicker with something he's not smart enough to recognise. "Why wouldn't I?"

Blaine shrugs, twisting his fingers until they're tangled with Sebastian's own. He has that feeling again about how he wouldn't do this with anyone else. Is Hunter right?  _Is_  there something more with Blaine and he's too ignorant to see it?

"You're important to me," Blaine says, a small crease at the corner of his eye indicating that he's thinking carefully about the words. "With Lillian recovering, and me being discharged, and your uncertain summer plans, I know it could be harder to work out who to see or what to do. So I- I just wanted you to know that I…I value our friendship and don't want to lose you."

"Blaine…" He sits up, which takes Blaine with him. The other boy seems to be looking everywhere except his eyes and he supresses a sigh of exasperation. "I can count the amount of people I trust on two fingers," he says, squeezing Blaine's hand in an attempt to indicate that he's one of them. "I don't plan on being foolish enough to let that go just because you're not gimpy anymore."

Blaine seems appeased by the news, although Sebastian still detects some level of distraction in his expression. He wants to ask about it so he can try to reassure Blaine more but he's not sure if he's prepared to hear the answer. Learning what distracts Blaine might leave Sebastian with more questions than answers.

"You probably have to go," Blaine mumbles, ignoring the jibe at his arm which makes Sebastian wonder what's really running through Blaine's mind. The other boy glances at him briefly before drawing his hand away. Sebastian hadn't noticed the time but, regretfully, Blaine's right: he can't stay much longer.

"You're getting out of here tomorrow," he says, cupping Blaine's cheeks in his hands and drawing Blaine's eyes towards him. "I promise, on my life or Lillian's or whatever will make you believe me, that I'll see you as much as I can during the summer."

A tentative smile plays on Blaine's lips as he finally maintains some eye contact. "That's quite a promise, Smythe."

His thumb smooths over Blaine's left cheekbone as he commits every speck in Blaine's eyes to memory. "Does it make you believe me, Anderson?"

Blaine's Adam's apple bobs, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to Sebastian's. "It makes me hopeful you'll keep it."

It's not the answer he'd expected but Blaine's eyes look away again and he tries to reassure himself that Blaine heard him and trusts him enough that it's a promise he'll keep. It's one that seems much more manageable than the promise he made Lillian, because he  _will_  keep it. He needs Blaine to stay in his life just as much as he needs Lillian to remain alive.

He wraps his arms around Blaine's neck and Blaine squeaks faintly before his arms settle around Sebastian's waist. He wishes he could cast magic spells over Blaine's body to shield him from getting hurt between now and when they'll see each other again. The uncertainty threatens to unspool the threads holding his heart and composure together.

"You can always call me or text me," he says, nosing at the curls behind Blaine's ear as he commits the scent of him, the feel of his body, to every part of his memory in the hopes it will help him get through the next weeks.

"And you can always call or text me," Blaine echoes, his hands bunching into the back of Sebastian's shirt. "You'll be okay, Seb. I know you will."

Sebastian fails to have the same level of confidence as Blaine but he tries to wear a confident smile as he lets Blaine go and slides off the bed to put on his shoes. Blaine stands carefully, using the bed to support him as he walks mostly unaided to Sebastian's side.

"You  _are_  getting better," he compliments and Blaine's cheeks turn pink.

"Now it's your turn to get better," Blaine says, rising on the point of his good leg to leave a quick kiss on Sebastian's cheek that he's pretty sure will burn a hole through his flesh over the course of the next month. Does Blaine…?

Before Sebastian can really think about responding, Blaine slips away and settles on the edge of the bed, looking nonchalant. It's like kissing a guy's cheek doesn't really mean anything to him. Maybe it  _doesn't_. Maybe he  _doesn't_  feel anything and-

Sebastian's pretty sure he's going to drive himself crazy.

He leaves before he could make a fool out of himself and spends most of his walk to the elevators in a daze, his cheek pulsing with warmth from the brief contact with Blaine's lips. His whole body feels fuzzy and overheated. He's so distracted that it's not until a hand clamps around his arm just before he leaves the front doors of the hospital that he registers someone has been calling his name.

"Earth to Sebastian," Therese says, waving a hand in front of his eyes.

He sighs and rolls his eyes as he looks down at her amused face. "Are you going to play the 'how many fingers am I holding up' game? Because that got old about thirteen years ago."

Therese grins and he wonders if his sarcastic sense of humour is really that hilarious or she's ridiculously good at acting like he is. He suspects that the range of news she'd have to deliver to patients and their families on a daily basis probably makes her very good at shielding what she's really thinking and feeling.

"Summer holidays are approaching," she says, releasing his arm as she steadies in front of him. Determination radiates from every pore and he realises there's no easy escape from this conversation. "Have you figured out what you're going to do?"

He shakes his head, scratching at the back of his neck when his discomfort increases. He knows he'll probably send himself crazy agonising over the right decision to make for the summer during the ensuing weeks too.

"If you don't want to stay at school but don't feel comfortable returning home, you could stay with me and my family," Therese says, her expression hopeful and bright and earnest. "We have a couple of spare rooms for when my brother or my husband's parents come to stay with us. You'd have more freedom to come and go than staying at school and I won't be as dismissive as your parents are about your wellbeing."

He raises an eyebrow, surprised by her offer. He had assumed that staying anywhere with anyone that knew of his past habits would come with a long list of conditions. He might also have thought there may have been a contract he needed to sign to stay with someone. Which would require his blood on the paper.

"What's the catch?" he asks, sneaking a look at his watch to ensure he won't miss the bus.

"I'm sure you could guess those," Therese says with a shrug and ticks the conditions off on her fingers. "I'd want you looking after yourself. I'd want you to speak up if you weren't feeling okay. We can't help you if we don't know you need it."

It doesn't  _sound_  like she's saying "no alcohol or drugs, or I turf you out" but Sebastian's not sure it's a risk he's willing to take. Would James allow him to return to Dalton if he makes plans that don't work out? Is it wiser to just stay at Dalton for the stability? Should he endure returning home so he could mend things with his parents?

"I'm not going to kick you out if you have a slip up, Seb," Therese says, touching a hand to his upper arm like she knows what he's deeply afraid of, like she knows he's worried about screwing up and using again over the break because the offer, the availability, is just too tempting. "I'm just suggesting a place that might be a safe alternative to the ideas you've already been entertaining."

It would be rude to reject Therese's idea so he allows a nod. It might be the lesser of all the evils he's been thinking about the past few weeks but he'll have to ponder it further before he gives any final decisions.

"I'll think about it," he says, glancing at his watch again and realising he's going to be late soon. "I need to go so I don't miss the bus."

"You still have my number, correct?"

He nods, managing a step out of her grasp.

"Use it," she says, her eyes narrowing into a distinctly parental glare before he nods again and darts out the front doors to escape her and ensure he's on the bus.

He's only just finished dashing across the road and fumbling for his wallet when the bus turns onto the street. He's glad he'd ducked away when he had because although he doubts James would call his parents or the police – he has a feeling the principal knows the fine line he's been walking on with Amelia and William Smythe the past months – the threat of a phone call is still a risk he has no intention of taking.

* * *

Hunter appears to be out when Sebastian arriving at their room. He tears a piece of paper from one of his exercise books and divides it into two columns with three rows.

It takes him a while to brainstorm the pros and cons of staying at Dalton, returning home, or staying with Therese's family. He's not entirely sure he covers every possibility and he probably misses a few obvious things that Blaine or Hunter could have suggested, but writing it down makes it clear that there are more cons to returning home than pros. Staying at Dalton or going to Therese's are essentially the same – there are many unknowns about staying with Therese but it lessens the trapped feeling he has with Dalton. It's also his own room – he has no idea if he'd have to share with someone at Dalton during the summer, someone he probably doesn't know – and he assumes he'd have greater flexibility to see Lillian and Blaine if he was with Therese.

His biggest concern, without a doubt, is staying with a colleague of his mother and the sort of message that would send to his parents. If he refuses to go home, then Dalton could be seen as neutral ground. Staying with someone associated with the hospital is like drawing a line in the sand and taking sides in a battle he's not prepared to fight. He never wanted to get into a massive conflict with his parents. He never realised things had spiralled so far out of control until his father confronted him in the waiting room.

And yet…

If he's going to get better, if he's going to try to take care of himself and keep his promise to Lillian, then lingering in abandoned Dalton corridors or rooms might just send him up the wall. At least Therese has an older son and two younger daughters, and he can come and go to see Blaine or Lillian whenever he likes. Maybe they could even visit him at Therese's place. Therese had shown her patience and care numerous times and, perhaps, he needs that sort of steady guidance to stay away from his terrible tendencies towards alcohol and marijuana to forget how much he aches inside.

He folds the paper and tucks it into the drawer of his bedside table to review when Hunter isn't around. Maybe he'll add to it. Maybe he'll think about other issues. For now, he's not sure he feels any closer to deciding on where he should stay during the summer.

* * *

_**~TBC~** _


End file.
